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The Historical Romances 
of Louisa Miihlbach 


Brandenburg Edition 
Limited to One Thousand Sets 
































The Historical Romances of 
Louisa., Miihlbach 


The Merchant 
of Berlin 


Translated from the German 
by Amory Coffin, M. D. 



New York and London 
D. Appleton and Company 



A 





140 


b 


Copyright, 1866 , 

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 


Copyright, 1898 , 

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 


off ice of 

8EP 1-3 1808” 

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TWO COKIES RECEIVED. 

^ l o 


INTRODUCTION. 


Berlin had already lain open to the armies of Fred- 
erick’s enemies after his defeat at Kunnersdorf, on 
August 12, 1759, by the combined Austrian and Russian 
forces, but a difference of opinion between Daun and 
the Russian commander Soltikow had resulted in the 
latter’s retreat to Silesia, leaving the Austrians to invade 
Saxony and capture Dresden. The author made clever 
use of this misunderstanding between the two command- 
ers in the twelfth chapter of “ Frederick the Great and 
his Family.” But Fortune hid her face from the Prus- 
sian king in the following year. Although she smiled 
on him at the battle of Liegnitz, where, with an army 
of but thirty-five thousand men, he defeated the Aus- 
trian forces numbering ninety-five thousand, he could 
not prevent the sudden march upon Berlin that fol- 
lowed — by the Russian army from the Oder, and the 
Austrians and Saxons from Lusatia. After a defence 
of a few days the capital surrendered. In the sack of 
the city that followed, the Russian barbarians were 
largely restrained by their commanders, but the Aus- 
trians and Saxons plundered and outraged their brother 
Germans with inconceivable cruelty. The palace of 
Charlottenburg was ravaged by the Saxon troops, and 
the city was forced to pay a war tax of seventeen hun- 

iii 


iv 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


dred thousand thalers. As stated before, the mere 
rumor of Frederick’s approach sufficed to send the 
enemy hastily retreating from the field of victory, which 
was revenged, in a sense, by the Prussian success at 
Torgau. But the year closed with the Austrians in 
possession of Dresden and Glatz, and the French of 
Cassel and Gottingen. The death of George II. de- 
prived Frederick of his annual English subsidy of four 
million thalers, and he sought alliances in Turkey and 
among the Cossack and Tartar leaders. The arrival 
and reception of Mustapha Aga, the ambassador of the 
Khan of Tartary, as the reader will remember, are 
picturesquely described in the sixteenth chapter of 
Frederick and his Family. 

J ohn Gotzkowsky, the “ Merchant of Berlin,” is an 
almost forgotten historical character. His rise from 
poverty to great wealth had been made possible by the 
policy of protection to native industry and commerce 
begun by the Great Elector and continued by the eccen- 
tric Frederick William I — a policy that Frederick, not- 
withstanding his admiration for everything French, had 
warmly supported and advanced. Gotzkowsky not only 
enriched himself by his vast enterprises; he became one 
of the pioneers of German commerce and industry, one 
of the fathers of the great edifice of trade and manu- 
facture that in these days sends its products to the 
farthest ends of the world, and has of recent years given 
rise to the many discussions and warnings that have 
been epitomized under the comprehensive title of 
“ made in Germany.” 

Gotzkowsky’s suppressed autobiography forms the 
basis of this romance. The author’s imagination, as 
always, has followed the facts of history without feeling 
their limitations as fetters upon her talent. More than 


INTRODUCTION. 


V 


in any other of her books, almost, does she display 
here her gift of intuition, which enables her to recall 
to life, by the light of history, the men and women 
of the time as they must have been, to reconstruct their 
characters from what is known, and to present their 
pictures, lifelike and with the ever-fresh colors of eter- 
nal history, in the framing of their day and generation. 
She introduces not only the city fathers and the mili- 
tary council — Yon Rochow, Lehwald, Seidlitz, and 
Knoblauch, four names famous in the annals of Prussia 
— but also the common people, with its alternating at- 
tacks of patriotism and fear, the mob with its uncertain 
temper and mysterious liability to panics. A sketch of 
the Berlin of that day would be incomplete without a 
glimpse at its journals, therefore the Yossische Zeitung 
and its editor, Kretschmer, have been introduced and 
assigned to their place, so far as their attitude toward 
the crisis and their comments thereon are concerned. 
The Russian and Austrian commanders are painted in 
their good and bad colors, as the vanquished knew them; 
and the unavailing patriotism of Grotzkowsky, his sac- 
rifices, and the black ingratitude of his fellow-citizens 
are woven into a laurel-wreath on his almost forgotten 
grave. 

Considered merely as literature, without regard to its 
historical value, “ The Merchant of Berlin 99 stands high 
among Louisa Muhlbach's works. The plot is well 
conceived and consistently worked out; the action is 
rapid, straightforward, and dramatic; the background, 
crowded with important figures, does not confuse the 
outlines of the principal characters; and these charac- 
ters, as already said, have been drawn with an unerring 
hand. The story of the Seven Years' War as told by 
the author ends fittingly with this episode; it is a 


vi THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

strong climax preceding the last volume devoted en- 
tirely to Frederick, wherein he is shown in the 
zenith of his glory, called by his people not merely 
Frederick the Great, but “ der Einzige ” — the Only 
Frederick. 


CONTENTS 


BOOK I. 

PAGE 

Chap. I. — The Festival, ...... 5 

II. — The Workman’s Holiday, . . . 17 

III. — Brother and Sister, . . . . .24 

IV. — Feodor von Brenda, . . . . 31 

V. — Mr. Kretschmer, of the “ Vossian Gazette,” . 38 

VI. — The Cowards’ Race, .... 46 

VII. — The Interrupted Festival, . . . .51 

VIII. — The Leader of the People, ... 57 

IX. — The Russian is at the Gates, . . . .62 

X. — Be Prudent, ..... 66 

XI. — The Night of Horrors, . . . .73 

XII. — Russians and Austrians, .... 80 

XIII. — A Maiden’s Heart, . . . . .87 

XIV. — A Faithful Friend, .... 98 

XV. — An Unexpected Meeting, .... 102 

XVI. — The Fugitive, . . . . .109 

XVII. — The Eavesdropper, . . . . .114 

XVIII. — The Two Cannoneers, . . . .119 

XIX. — Father Gotzkowsky, ..... 127 


BOOK II. 

Chap. I. — The Two Editors, ..... 135 

II.— The Chief Magistrate of Berlin, . . 143 

III. — The Russian, the Saxon, and the Austrian, in 

Berlin, 150 

IV. — The Cadets, . . . . . .157 

V. — The Explosion, ..... 164 

vii 


CONTENTS. 


viii 


PAGE 


VI— John Gotzkowsky, . . . . .176 

VII.— The Horrors of War, .... 181 

VIII.— By Chance, 190 

IX. — Mistress or Maid ? 197 

X. — An Unexpected Ally, .... 207 

XI. — The Jew Ephraim, .... 215 

XII. — The Russian General and the German Man, . 222 

XIII. — The Execution, 240 

XIV. — Bride and Daughter, .... 247 

XV.— The Rivals, 258 

XVI.— The Punishment, 264 

XVII. — The Banquet of Gratitude, . . . 271 

XVIII.— A Royal Letter, 278 


BOOK III. 


Chap. I. — Frederick the Great at Meissen, . . . 284 

II. — The Winter-quarters in Leipsic, . . 302 

III. — The Friend in Need, ..... 305 

IV. — Gratitude and Recompense, . . . 314 

V. — Four Years’ Labor, ..... 317 

VI.— Days of Misfortune, . . .320 

VII.— Confessions, 329 

VIII. — The Russian Prince, .... 334 

IX. — Old Love — New Sorrow, .... 342 

X. — The Magistracy of Berlin, . . . 354 

XI.— The Jews of the Mint, . . . .362 

XII. — The Leipsic Merchant, .... 366 

XIII. — Ephraim the Tempter, .... 372 

XIV. — Elise, 382 

XV.— The Rescue, 392 

XVI.— Retribution, 397 

XVII.— Tardy Gratitude, 401 

XVIII.— The Auction, 408 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


BOOK I. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE FESTIVAL. 

The sufferings of the long war still continued; still 
stood Frederick the Great with his army in the field; 
the tremendous struggle between Prussia and Austria 
was yet undecided, and Silesia was still the apple of dis- 
cord for which Maria Theresa and Frederick II. had 
been striving for years, and for which, in so many bat- 
tles, the blood of German brothers had been spilt. 

Everywhere joy seemed extinguished; the light jest 
was hushed; each one looked silently into the future, 
and none could tell in whose favor this great contest 
would finally be decided, whether Austria or Prussia 
would be victorious. 

The year 1760, the fifth of the war, was particularly 
sad for Prussia; it was marked in the history of Germany 
with tears and blood. Even Berlin which, up to that 
time, had suffered but little from the unhappy calami- 
ties of war, assumed now an earnest, mournful aspect, 
and it seemed as if the bright humor and sarcastic wit 
which had always characterized the inhabitants of this 
good city had now entirely deserted them. Going 
through the wide and almost empty streets there were 
to be met only sad countenances, women clothed in black 

5 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


6 

who mourned their husbands or sons fallen in one of the 
many battles of this war, or mothers who were looking 
with anxiety into the future and thinking of their dis- 
tant sons who had gone to the army. 

Here and there was seen some wounded soldier wea- 
rily dragging himself along the street, but hearty, 
healthy men were seldom to be met, and still more sel- 
dom was seen the fresh countenance of youth. 

Berlin had been obliged to send not only her men 
and youths, but also her hoys of fourteen years to the 
army, which, according to the confession of Frederick 
the Great, consisted, in the campaign of the year 1760, 
only of renegades, marauders, and beardless hoys. 

For these reasons it seemed the more strange to hear 
at this time issuing from one of the largest and hand- 
somest houses on the Leipsic Street the unwonted sounds 
of merry dance-music, cheerful singing and shouting, 
which reached the street. 

The passers-hy stopped and looked with curiosity up 
to the windows, at which could he seen occasionally a 
flushed joyous man’s face or pretty woman’s head. But 
the men who were visible through the panes evidently 
did not belong to the genteeler classes of society; their 
faces were sunburnt, their hair hung down carelessly 
and unpowdered upon the coarse and unfashionable 
cloth coat, and the attire of the maidens had little in 
common with the elegance and fashion of the day. 

“ The rich Gotzkowsky gives a great feast to his 
workmen to-day,” remarked the people in the street to 
one another; and as they passed on they envied with 
a sigh those who were able at the same time to enjoy a 
merry day in the rich and brilliant halls of the great 
manufacturer, and admire the splendor of the rich man’s 
house. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


7 


The mansion of Gotzkowsky was indeed one of the 
handsomest and most magnificent in all Berlin, and its 
owner was one of the richest men of this city, then, 
despite the war, so wealthy and thriving. But it was 
not the splendor of the furniture, of the costly silver 
ware, of the Gobelin tapestry and Turkish carpets which 
distinguished this house from all others. In these re- 
spects others could equal the rich merchant, or even sur- 
pass him. 

But Gotzkowsky possessed noble treasures of art, 
costly paintings, which princes and even kings might 
have envied. Several times had he travelled to Italy by 
commission from the king to purchase paintings, and 
the handsomest pieces in the Royal Gallery had been 
brought from the land of art by Gotzkowsky. But the 
last time he returned from Italy the war of 1756 had 
broken out, and the king could then spare no money for 
the purchase of paintings: he needed it all for his army. 
Therefore Gotzkowsky was obliged to keep for him- 
self the splendid originals of Raphael, Rubens, and other 
great masters which he had purchased at enormous 
prices, and the wealthy manufacturer was just the one 
able to afford himself the luxury of a picture gallery. 

The homely artisans and workmen who this day 
had dined in Gotzkowsky’s halls felt somewhat con- 
strained and uncomfortable, and their countenances did 
not wear a free, joyous expression until they had risen 
from table, and the announcement was made that 
the festival would continue in the large garden imme- 
diately adjacent to the house, to which they at once re- 
paired to enjoy cheerful games and steaming coffee. 

Bertram, Gotzkowsky’s head book-keeper, had been 
commissioned by him to lead the company, consisting of 
more than two hundred persons, into the garden, where 


8 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Gotzkowsky would follow them, having first gone in 
search of his daughter. 

With lively conversation and hearty laugh the peo- 
ple retired, the halls were emptied, and now the deep 
silence of these state-apartments was only interrupted 
by the gentle ticking of the large clock which stood over 
the sofa on its handsomely ornamented stand. 

When Gotzkowsky found himself at last alone, he 
breathed as if relieved. The quiet seemed to do him 
good. He sank down into one of the large chairs cov- 
ered with gold-embroidered velvet, and gazed earnestly 
and thoughtfully before him. The expression of his 
countenance was anxious, and his large dark eyes were 
not as clear and brilliant as usual. 

John Gotzkowsky was still a handsome man, despite 
his fifty years; his noble intellectual countenance, his 
tall proud figure, his full black hair, which, contrary to 
the custom of that period, he wore unpowdered, made 
an imposing and at the same time pleasing impression. 

And certainly it was not because of his personal ap- 
pearance that Gotzkowsky, notwithstanding the early 
death of his wife, had never contracted a second mar- 
riage, hut had preferred to remain a solitary widower. 
Nor did this occur from indifference or coldness of heart, 
hut solely from the love for that little, helpless, love- 
needing being, whose birth had cost his young wife her 
life, to whom he had vowed at the bedside of her dead 
mother to stand in stead of that mother, and never to 
make her bend under the harsh rule of a step-mother. 
Gotzkowsky had faithfully fulfilled his vow; he had con- 
centrated all his love on his daughter, who under his 
careful supervision had increased in strength and beauty, 
so that with the pride and joy of a father he now styled 
her the handsomest jewel of his house. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


9 


Where then was this daughter whom he loved so 
dearly? Why was she not near him to smile away the 
wrinkles from his brow, to drive with light chat serious 
and gloomy thoughts from his mind? She it was, doubt- 
less, whom his wandering glance sought in these vast, 
silent rooms; and finding her not, and yearning in vain 
for her sweet smiles, her rosy cheeks, he sighed. 

Where was she then? 

Like her father, Gotzkowsky’s daughter sat alone 
in her room — her gaze, as his, fixed upon empty space. 
The sad, melancholy expression of her face, scarcely 
tinged with a delicate blush, contrasted strangely with 
her splendid dress, her mournful look with the full 
wreath of roses which adorned her hair. 

Elise was the daughter of the wealthiest man in 
Berlin, the world proclaimed her the handsomest 
maiden, and yet there she sat solitary in her beautiful 
chamber, her eyes clouded with tears. Of a sudden she 
drew a golden case from her bosom and pressed it with 
deep feeling to her lips. Looking timidly at the door 
she seemed to listen; convinced that no one approached, 
she pressed a hidden spring of the medallion; the 
golden cover flew open and disclosed the portrait of a 
handsome man in Russian uniform. 

The young girl contemplated this portrait with a 
strange mixture of delight and melancholy, and then, 
completely overpowered by its aspect, she approached 
it to her lips. “ Feodor! ” murmured she, so softly that 
it sounded almost like a sigh, and stretching out the 
hand which held the medallion, in order to he able 
better to contemplate the picture, she continued— 

“ Feodor, why did we meet, to be separated forever 
again? Why did not Fate allow me to he horn as a poor 
serf upon one of thy estates, giving to thee the right to 


10 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


possess me, to me the sweet duty of loving thee? 0 
Heaven, why art thou an enemy of my country, or why 
am I a German? Men call me happy; they envy me 
my father’s wealth; they know not how wretched and 
forsaken I am.” 

She bowed her head upon her breast and wept bit- 
terly. Suddenly steps were heard quite close to her 
door. She started, and concealed the medallion quick- 
ly in her breast. “ My father,” murmured she, and dry- 
ing her tears she arose to open the door. She was right, 
it was her father. He held out his hand to her. She 
took it and pressed it to her lips respectfully, but she did 
not see the look of almost passionate tenderness with 
which he regarded her, for she had cast down her eyes 
and did not dare to look at him. 

“ I have come, Elise, to lead you to our garden fes- 
tival. You will go with me, my child? ” 

“ I am ready,” said she, taking her hat and shawl. 

“ But why in such a hurry, my child?” asked her 
father. “Let us leave these good people yet a little 
while to themselves. We will still be in time to witness 
their games. I would like to stay a quarter of an hour 
with you, Elise.” 

Without answering, she rolled an arm-chair to the 
window, and laid aside her hat and shawl. 

“ It is very seldom, father, that you make me such a 
present,” said she. 

“ What present, my child? ” 

“ A quarter of an hour of your life, father.” 

“You are right,” said he, thoughtfully. “I have 
little time for pleasure, but I think so much the more 
of you.” 

She shook her head gently. 

“ Ho,” said she, “ you have no time to think of me. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


11 


You are too busy. Hundreds of men claim your atten- 
tion. How could you have time, father, to think of 
your daughter ? ” 

Gotzkowsky drew a dark-red case from his breast 
pocket and handed it to her. 

“Look, Elise! see if I have not thought of you. 
To-day is your birthday, and I have celebrated it as I 
have done every year by giving my workmen a festival, 
and endowing a poor bridal pair who on this day become 
betrothed. Their prayers and tears constitute the most 
beautiful thank-offering to you, and being happy they 
bless you, the authoress of their happiness. But how is 
this? You have not yet opened the case. Are you so 
little like other girls that diamonds cause you no pleas- 
ure?” 

She opened the case, and contemplated the jewels 
with weary looks and scarcely concealed indifference. 

“ How wonderfully they shine and sparkle, and what 
tempting promises their brilliant colors hold forth! 
But this is a princely present, father; your^ poor Elise 
it not worthy to wear this diadem and collar.” 

« Oh, you are worthy to wear a crown! ” cried her 
father with tender pride. “ And let me tell you, my 
child, you have only to choose whether you will place on 
• this beautiful hair an earl’s coronet or a prince’s diadem. 
And this, my child, is the reason of my visit to-day.” 

“ On business,” murmured she, almost inaudibly, 
with a bitter smile. 

Gotzkowsky continued — 

“ Young Count Saldem applied to me yesterday for 
your hand.” 

“Count Saldem?” asked Elise. “I hardly know 
him. I have only spoken to him twice in the saloon of 
Countess Herzberg.” 


12 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


“ That does not prevent him from loving you ardent- 
ly/’ said Gotzkowsky, with scarcely perceptible irony. 
“ Yes, Elise, he loves you so ardently that he would 
overcome all obstacles of rank and make you a genuine 
countess, if I will only promise to endow you with half 
a million.” 

The habitually pale countenance of Elise suddenly 
assumed life and color. She drew herself up and 
threw her head proudly back. 

“ Do you wish to sell me, father? Do you wish to 
give some value to this noble nonentity by the present 
of half a million, and will his lordship be kind enough 
in return to take the trifling burden of my person into 
the bargain? ” 

Her father gazed at her glowing countenance with 
eyes beaming with joy; but he quickly suppressed this 
emotion, and reassumed a serious air. 

“Yes,” he said, “the good count, in consideration 
of half a million, will consent to raise the manufacturer’s 
daughter to the rank of a countess. But for a whole 
million we can obtain still more; we can rise yet higher 
in the scale. If I will advance his uncle. Prince Saldem, 
half a million to redeem his mortgaged estates, the 
prince promises to adopt the nephew, your suitor, as his 
son. You would then be a princess, Elise, and I would 
have the proud satisfaction of calling a prince my son.” 

“ As if the king would consent to a nobleman thus 
demeaning himself!” cried Elise; “as if he would 
graciously allow the count so far to degrade himself! ” 

“ Oh, the king will consent,” continued her father 
in a light tone. “You know that he is fond of me. 
Only say whether you consent to become Countess Sal- 
dem.” 

“Never!” cried she proudly. “I am no chattel to 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


13 


be bartered, and this miserable title of princess has no 
charms for me. You can command me, father, to re- 
nounce the man I love, but you can never compel me to 
give mv hand to a man I do not love, were he even a 
king! ” 

Her father clasped her vehemently in his arms. 

“ That is blood of my blood, and spirit of my spirit,” 
cried he. “ You are right, my child, to despise honors 
and titles; they are empty tinsel, and no one believes in 
them any longer. We stand at the portal of a new era, 
and this era will erect new palaces and create new 
princes; but you, my child, will be one of the first prin- 
cesses of this new era. Manufactories will be the new 
palaces, and manufacturers the new princes. Instead 
of the sword, money will rule the world, and men will 
bow down before manufacturers and merchants as they 
are wont to do before generals. Therefore I say you 
are right in refusing Prince Saldem’s offer, for I promise 
you, you shall be a princess, even without the title, and 
the great and noble shall bow as low before your riches as 
if they were a ducal diadem.” 

Elise shook her head with a melancholy smile: “ I 
have no desire for such homage, and I despise the base 
metal with which you can buy everything.” 

“ Despise it not! ” cried her father, “ prize it rather! 
Gold is a holy power; it is the magic wand of Moses 
which caused springs to gush forth from the sterile 
rock. See, my child — I, who despise all the rank and 
honors which the world can offer me, I tell you gold 
is the only thing for which I have any respect. But a 
man must perceive and understand the secret of this 
magic power. He who strives for wealth only to possess 
it is a heartless fool, and his fate will be that of Midas 
he will starve in the midst of his treasures. But he who 
2 


14 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


strives for wealth for the purpose of giving , he will dis- 
cover that money is the fountain of happiness; and in 
his hands the dead metal is transformed into a living 
blessing. Yon may believe your father, who knows the 
world, and who has drunk the bitter cup of poverty ” 

“ You were once poor? ” asked Elise, looking at her 
father with astonishment. 

Gotzkowsky smiled, and sank back in his chair, mus- 
ing and silent. After a pause he resumed: “ Yes, I 
was poor. I have endured all the horrors of poverty. 
I have hungered and thirsted, suffered misery and priva- 
tion, even as a little boy. Thus lay I once, wretched 
and forsaken, in a ditch by the highway, and raised my 
hands to God on high, praying but for a drop of water, 
but for a morsel of bread. Ah! so strong was the be- 
lief of the goodness of God in my heart, that I was con- 
vinced He would open the heavens, and reach to me with 
His own hand the food for which I prayed. I waited 
and waited, in despairing anxiety, but the heavens were 
not opened, and not even a drop of rain came to cool my 
parched lips. But the cloud, which I had looked for in 
vain in the sky, was seen at last on the highway, and, as 
I saw this whirling cloud of dust, in the midst of which 
a splendid equipage came rolling on, I said to myself: 
‘ Here comes God! ? and then I found strength enough 
to raise myself from my knees, to hurry toward the 
rapidly passing vehicle, and to cry with a voice which 
was almost overpowered by the noise of the wheels, 
‘ Pity! pity! give me a morsel of bread, a drop of water! 
Have pity on me! ? A hand was stretched toward me 
out of the cloud of dust, and I saw a small, brightly shin- 
ing object drop. The carriage rolled on, and disappeared 
in its cloud. But I sank on my knees and searched the 
dust for the piece of money, for in this coin lay for 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


15 


me life, health, and strength. I was obliged to hunt in 
the dust for a long time with hands tremulous with anx- 
iety, and finally, when I found it, I rejoiced aloud and 
thanked God. Then I hurried with fleet steps toward 
the neighboring town, to the same baker’s shop near the 
gate, where, shortly before, they had refused to my en- 
treaties a bit of bread. Now, willingly and with smiles, 
they handed me a loaf, for I had money to pay for it. 
In that hour I said to myself: ‘ I must seek money, even 
if I have to grovel in the dust for it; for money is life, 
and poverty is death!’ The hand which, from the 
cloud of dust threw me that piece of money, decided 
my whole future, for it taught me that even dust was not 
to he despised, as therein money might be found; hut it 
taught me something more — it taught me compassion 
and charity. Then, as I crouched down with bleeding 
feet at the street-corner and devoured my loaf, I vowed 
to myself that I would become rich, and when I had 
grown rich, to be to each poor and needy one the helping 
hand stretched forth out of the cloud of dust.” 

Elise had listened to her father with deep emotion, 
and in the depth of her heart she at this moment ab- 
solved him from many a silent reproach, and many a 
suspicion, which her soul had harbored against him. 

“ You have kept your word, my father! ” cried she. 
“How did you contrive to become a rich man from a 
beggar? ” 

Gotzkowsky laughed. “ How did I contrive that? ” 
said he. “ I worked, that is the whole secret— worked 
from sunrise until late in the night, and by work alone 
have I become what I am. But no, I had one friend 
who often helped me with his sympathy and valuable 
counsel. This friend was the king. He protected me 
against my malicious enemies, who envied me every little 


16 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


piece of fortune. He cheered me on. Frederick’s eye 
rested on me with pleasure, and he was delighted to see 
my manufactories thrive and increase. The king’s satis- 
faction was for many years the only spur to my exertions, 
and when he looked on me with smiling benevolence, 
it seemed to me as if a sunbeam of fortune shone from 
his large blue eyes into my heart. I have learned to 
love the king as a man, and because I love mankind I 
love the king. It is said that he likes the French better 
than he does us, and prefers every thing that comes from 
them; but, indeed, he was the first to supply his wants 
from my manufactories, and in that way to encourage me 
to new undertakings.* Mankind, in general, do not 
like to see others favored by fortune in their enterprises, 
and they hate him who succeeds where they have failed. 
I have experienced that often in life. I knew that men 
hated me because I was more fortunate than they were, 
and yet I saw how they cringed before me, and flat- 
tered me. Oh, my child, how many bitter and painful 
experiences do I not owe to my wealth! In wealth lies 
Wisdom, if one would only listen to her. It has humbled 
and subdued me, for I said to myself, 'How quickly 
would all these men who now surround me with atten- 
tion and flattery, disappear if I became suddenly poor! ’ 
These princes and counts, who now invite me as a guest 
to their tables, would no longer know me if I appeared 
before them as a poor man. Wealth is rank and worth; 
and no prince’s title, no star of honor, shines so brightly 
as golden coin. But we must learn how to use it> and 

* “ Gotzkowsky founded the first large velvet and silk manufac- 
tories in Berlin. He was also the first to attend the Leipsic fair 
with domestic goods, and thus open the commerce with Poland and 
Russia.”— History of a Patriotic Merchant of Berlin. 1768. nacres 
10-12. b 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


17 


not convert the means of fortune into the end. We must 
also learn to despise men, and yet to love mankind. My 
philosophy may he condensed into a few sentences. 
Strive for gold; not to take, hut to give. Be kind and 
faithful to all men; most faithful, however, to thyself, 
thy honor, and thy country.” 

Elise looked at him with a strange expression: “ You 
love all mankind! Do you then include our country’s 
enemies? ” 

“ The enemies of our country are the only men whom 
I hate,” cried Gotzkowsky quickly. 

“ Even were they noble and good? ” asked Elise with 
reproachful tone. 

Gotzkowsky looked at her with astonishment and 
curiosity, and a cloud flitted across his brow. Then, 
as if shocked at his own thoughts, he shook his head, and 
murmured in a low tone, “ No, that were too terrible! ” 
He rose and paced the room in thoughtful mood. Sud- 
denly a hurst of lively music and gleeful shouts were 
heard from the garden. Gotzkowsky’s brow brightened 
immediately, and he extended his hand with a tender 
look. 

“ Come, my child,” exclaimed he, “ come, and see 
how happy you have made men! Come, and see the 
power of wealth! ” 


CHAPTER II. 

THE WORKMAN’S HOLIDAY. 

The garden, which stretched from behind Gotz- 
kowsky’s house to the limits of the city, was really of 
artistic beauty, and he had spent thousands in creating a 


18 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


park out of this dead level of sand. Now, his work was 
completed, and all Berlin spoke with praise and admira- 
tion of this garden, which ranked among the lions to be 
visited by every traveller. The most splendid groups of 
trees were seen here and there, interspersed among green 
plats of grass, ornamented by marble statues or graceful 
fountains; in other places, trimmed hedges stretched 
along, and from the conservatories exotic plants filled 
the air with perfume. 

On this day, however, the garden presented a pe- 
culiarly lively spectacle. On the lawn, the young girls 
and lads were dancing to the music of a fiddle and bass- 
viol, while the older workmen and their wives had seated 
themselves around tables, on which all kinds of refresh- 
ments were spread. 

At the largest of these tables, ornamented with flow^ 
ers, was seated the betrothed couple, the workman Bal- 
thazar and Gretchen his young bride, who bashfully and 
affectionately clung to his side. They had loved each 
other long and faithfully in silence, hut without hope, 
for they were both poor, and had to support themselves 
and their parents by the work of their hands. But Gotz- 
kowsky had come to them as a helping benefactor; he 
had given Balthazar a considerable sum of money, and 
his daughter Elise had bestowed a dower upon the bride. 
On this day, Elise’s eighteenth birthday, was to be cele- 
brated the marriage of the happy couple. No wonder, 
then, that they regarded Gotzkowsky with feelings al- 
most of adoration, and that this young girl appeared to 
them as a benevolent angel. 

Elise had just come into the garden with her father, 
and had taken her seat at the table of the bridal pair. 
Next to her sat a young man, whose mild and noble 
countenance seemed to he lighted up with happiness 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


19 


and adoration whenever he looked upon her. He fol- 
lowed every one of her motions with watchful eyes, and 
the most trifling shade, the slightest change in the ex- 
pression of her countenance, did not escape him. At 
times he sighed, reading perhaps in her features the 
secret thoughts of her soul, and these thoughts saddened 
him, and clouded his bright clear eye. 

This young man, who sat at Elise’s side, was Ber- 
tram, Gotzkowsky's head book-keeper. From his ear- 
liest youth he had been in the house of the rich manu- 
facturer, who had adopted the poor orphan, and treated 
him as a tender father would have done, and Bertram 
loved him with all the affection of a son. And never by 
the lips of a true son was the name of father pronounced 
with more warmth and tenderness than by this son, 
adopted and won by deeds of generosity. 

But Bertram, who called Gotzkowsky father, had 
never ventured to call Gotzkowsky’s daughter sister. 
Brought up together, they had in their childhood shared 
their games, their childish joys and sorrows with one 
another; he had been a protecting brother to her, she an 
affectionate sister to him. But ever since Bertram had 
returned from a journey of three years, which Gotz- 
kowsky had caused him to make, all this had changed. 
Elise, whom he had left almost a child, he found on his 
return a blooming young woman, and a feeling of joy- 
ous emotion flashed through him as he stood blushing 
before her; while she, perfectly collected, with a quiet 
look hade him welcome. 

Under the charm of this look he had lived several 
weeks of rapture and yet of anxiety. He soon felt that 
he loved this young girl passionately, hut he also felt 
that she returned his passion with the lukewarm affec- 
tion of a friend or a sister, and that she had no suspicion 


20 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


of the tumult and pain, the joy and ecstasy which filled 
his breast. And yet he had a right to strive for the 
prize of her love; and if he raised his eyes to the daugh- 
ter of his benefactor, it was not presumption, it was 
Gotzkowsky himself who emboldened him to do so. He 
had said to him, “ Seek to win the love of my daughter, 
and I will cheerfully bid you welcome as my son, for I 
know that in your hands Elise’s happiness is safe.” 

Thus he had the consent of her father, hut Elise’s 
love was wanting, and how could he ever deserve this 
love, how win this heart which shone as bright and 
clear, as hard and cold as rock crystal? Of what avail 
was it that he worked indefatigably in the service of his 
benefactor? how did it help him that the money, which 
Gotzkowsky had given to him as a boy, had borne rich 
interest and made him a man of means, and even, if he 
chose, of independence? What did it profit him that 
all men loved him, if this one being, by whom he so 
ardently longed to be loved, always remained the same, 
unchanged toward him, always affectionate and friendly, 
always open and candid, never abashed, never blushing, 
never casting her eyes down before him? 

“ It must at last be decided,” thought Bertram, as 
he sat next Elise; “ I must at last know whether she 
returns my love, or whether that be true which I have 
heard whispered since my return. I must at least have 
certainty, even if it annihilates all my wishes.” 

At this moment there sounded near him merry 
shouts and laughter. Gotzkowsky had accosted the 
bridal pair with a jest, and the grateful audience had 
taken up this jest with delight. 

“ Long Lfe to the bridal pair! ” cried he, raising his 
glass on high. “ Health, wealth, and happiness to 
them! ” A perfect uproar followed this appeal, and 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


21 


brought tears of delight into the eyes of the blushing 
little bride, who stood up with the bridegroom and 
bowed her thanks. 

Balthazar laughed, and, as soon as every thing had 
become quiet, replied: “ There, that will do! you have 
hurrahed enough. I don’t wish for wealth; health, 
happiness, and content are enough for me with my little 
Gretchen; but for these blessings I have to thank, we 
have all to thank, our lord and master, our father Gotz- 
kowsky. Therefore, you boys up there, stop your clat- 
ter and dancing, and listen to what I have to say to 
you.” 

Balthazar’s loud clear voice overpowered the music 
which now ceased, and the lads and maidens crowded 
around him. 

“ Balthazar is going to make a speech! ” cried one 
with hearty laughter, in which the others joined lustily. 
“ Silence, silence! Balthazar is going to make a speech. 
Come, Balthazar, out with it! It’s a failing he has.” 

“ Well, why shouldn’t I? ” said Belthazar, laughing; 
<c many a great lord does nothing else all his life but 
make pretty speeches. Why shouldn’t I play the great 
lord on this my wedding-day?” He drew himself up, 
cleared his throat, and continued: “ I want to talk to 
you about our master, who turned us from good-for- 
nothing drones into industrious workmen, who gave 
us bread when nobody else had bread for us. Nobody, 
I say, not even our mayor, who is a very good mayor, 
but who cannot help the poor, feed the hungry, and 
give bread and work to hands willing to work. Who 
is able to do that, and who does it? Who in Berlin is 
the rich, the good man, who gives work to all, and in 
his large and celebrated mills procures us food and 
wages? Who is it?” 


22 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


“ Gotzkowsky, our father Gotzkowsky! ” cried the 
crowd unanimously. 

Balthazar waved his hat joyfully in the air. “ There- 
fore, say I, long live Gotzkowsky our father! ” cried he 
with stentorian voice. And loud shouts and cheers fol- 
lowed this appeal. Men and women surrounded Gotz- 
kowsky and offered him their hand, and thanked him 
with those simple and plain words which never fail to 
reach the heart, because they come from the heart. All 
hailed him as friend and father, benefactor and master. 
Gotzkowsky stood in their midst, proud and erect. A 
deep emotion was evident in his noble features, and he 
raised his beaming, radiant face to heaven, thanking 
God in the humbleness of his heart for the proud joy 
of this hour. 

“ Lon g live Gotzkowsky, our father ! 99 reiterated the 
happy multitude. 

He lowered his eyes, and glanced with friendly looks 
at the cheerful assemblage. 

“ Thank you, my children,” said he, “ but I beg you 
not to overrate my merits. You are of as much service 
to me as I am to you. He who gives work is nothing 
without the worker; the one has need of the other, to in- 
crease and thrive. Of what avail would my looms and 
my money be if I had not your industrious hands and 
your good will to serve me? Money alone will not do it, 
but the good will and love of the workmen carry the day. 

I thank you all for your good will and your love; but 
above all,” continued he, turning to Bertram, “ above 
all things I must thank you, my friend. You have 
stood by me and helped me bravely, and it is full time 
that I should try to reward you. Children, one more sur- 
prise have I in reserve for you to-day. I appoint Mr. Ber- 
tram my partner and sole director of the silk factory.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN, 


23 


“ That’s right, that’s noble! ” cried the workmen. 

Bertram said nothing. He only turned his eyes, 
clouded with tears, toward Gotzkowsky, and the latter 
read in his looks his deep emotion and affectionate grati- 
tude. 

“ My son,” said he, opening his arms. 

“ My father, oh my dear, noble father,” cried the 
young man, throwing himself, with streaming eyes, on 
Gotzkowsky’s breast. The workmen stood round, deep- 
ly moved, and in silence; and in their hearts they sent 
up quiet prayers to God on high for their employer. At 
last Gotzkowsky raised himself from Bertram’s arms 
and sought his daughter with his eyes. She was still 
sitting, silent and pensive, at the table, and did not ap- 
pear to have observed what was going on around her. 
A light cloud crossed his brow as he took Bertram’s hand 
and approached Elise. 

“ Well, Elise, have you no word of congratulation 
for him? ” 

She shuddered, as if awaking from a dream. “ Oh,” 
said she, “my good brother Bertram knows that I re- 
joice in his fortune.” 

“Brother! still brother?” murmured Gotzkowsky 
impatiently. 

“And why should she not give me that sweet 
name? ” asked Bertram, quickly. “ Have you not often 
called me son, and allowed me to call you father? ” 

“ Oh, I would like indeed to he your father, my son, 
without Elise’s having to call you brother. But we will 
speak of this another time,” said he, interrupting him- 
self; and turning to his workmen, continued: “Come, 
let us he merry, and of good cheer. Who knows how 
long Heaven will grant us sunshine? Come, you young 
folks, I have caused a target to he set up in the court. 


2 4 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

Let us go there. He who makes the best shot shall get 
a new coat. Come, bride Greta, take my arm; I will be 
your groomsman to-day. Bertram, you and Elise follow 
us. How, music, strike up a song for the bride.” 

Gotzkowsky offered his arm to the bride and led her 
out. Cheerfully the motley crowd followed him, and 
soon there was heard in the distance their happy laugh- 
ter and the merry sound of the music. 


CHAPTER III. 

BROTHER AND SISTER. 

Elise did not follow the joyous multitude. She still 
sat musing, unaware that Bertram was standing opposite 
to her, considering her attentively. At last he ventured 
to pronounce her name softly. She looked up at him 
with perfect composure. 

“ You do not go with them, Elise? "" asked he. “ Do 
you not take any part in the general rejoicing? "" 

She tried to smile. “ Oh yes,” said she, “ I am glad 
to see how much these good people love my father. And 
he deserves it too. The welfare of his workmen is his 
only thought, and the only fame for which he strives.” 

“ You are too modest in your estimate of your father, 
Elise,” cried Bertram. “ Gotzkowsky’s fame extends far 
beyond the walls of this town. All Germany, yes, even 
Holland and England, are familiar with his name, and 
the Prussian merchant is as much a hero on ‘ "Change " 
as the Prussian king is on the battle-field."" 

“ Only my father’s victories are less bloody,” said 
Elise, smiling. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


25 


A pause ensued. Both felt anxious and embarrassed, 
and neither dared to break the silence. It* was the first 
time, since Bertram's return from his grand tour, that 
she had found herself in his presence without witnesses, 
for she had carefully avoided being alone with him. 
This had not escaped Bertram's notice, and he had there- 
fore determined to take advantage of the present oppor- 
tunity to have his fate decided. But yet he did not 
venture to speak, and the words died away on his lips 
as he remarked her silent, indifferent composure. As 
he contemplated her, memories of former days rose up 
before him. He saw her as, half child, half maiden, 
she clung trustingly and affectionately to his^side, and 
with charming blushes listened to the teasing jokes 
of her father. Then her whole soul lay open and clear 
before him; then she disclosed to him the entire treas- 
ure of her pure, full heart, and all the fanciful 
and dreamy thoughts of her young virgin soul 
were perceptible; then he had participated in her joys, 
her little sorrows, every feeling which agitated her 
breast. 

And now, why was it all so different? 

A deep, painful melancholy took possession of him, 
and made him overcome his fear of her decision. He 
sat down resolutely at her side, and took her hand. 

“ Elise," said he, “ do you still remember what you 
said to me three years ago, as I took leave of you? " 

She shook her head and turned her eyes toward him. 
These eyes were full of tears, and her countenance was 
agitated with painful emotion. 

Bertram continued: “You then said to me, e Fare- 
well, and however far you may travel my heart goes with 
you, and when you return I will be to you the same lov- 
ing, faithful sister that I now am.' These were your 


26 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


words, Elise; you see that I have preserved them in my 
memory more faithfully than you, my sister.” 

Elise shuddered slightly. Then she said, with a 
painfully subdued voice, “ You were so long absent, Ber- 
tram, and I was only a child when you left.” 

“ The young woman wishes, then, to recall the words 
spoken by the child? ” 

“ No, Bertram, I will always love you as a sister.” 

Bertram sighed. “ I understand you,” said he, sad- 
ly! “ you wish to erect this sisterly love into an impas- 
sable barrier separating me from you, and to pour this 
cool and unsubstantial affection like a soothing halm 
upon my sufferings. How little do you know of love, 
Elise; of that passion which desires every thing, which 
is satisfied with nothing less than extreme happiness, 
or, failing that, extreme wretchedness, and will accept 
no pitiful compromise, no miserable substitute! ” 

Elise looked at him firmly, with beaming eyes. She 
too felt that the decisive hour had come, and that she 
owed the friend of her youth an open and unreserved ex- 
planation. 

“ You are mistaken, Bertram,” said she. “ I know 
this love of which you speak, and for that very reason, 
because I know it, .1 tell you I will always love you as a 
sister. As a true sister I bid you welcome.” 

She offered him her hand; but as she read in his 
pale face the agony which tormented his soul, she 
turned her eyes away and drew her hand hack. 

“ You are angry with me, Bertram,” said she, sob- 
bing. 

He pressed his hand convulsively to his heart, as if 
he would suppress a cry of agony, then held it firmly 
to his eyes, which were scalded by his hot tears. He 
wrestled with his sufferings, but he wrestled like a hero 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


27 


and a man who would not he subjugated, but is deter- 
mined to conquer. As his hand glided from his face 
his eyes were tearless, and nothing was visible in his 
countenance but an expression of deep earnestness. 

“ Well, then,” said he, recovering himself, “ I accept 
this sisterly love as a sick man accepts the hitter medi- 
cine which he will not cast away lest he commit suicide. 
I accept you as my sister, but a sister must at least have 
confidence in her brother; she must not stand before 
him like a sealed book whose contents he is ignorant of. 
If I am to he your brother, I demand also the rights of 
a brother. I demand truth and trust.” 

“ And who says that I will deny you either? ” asked 
she, quickly. 

“ You, yourself, Elise; your whole conduct, your 
shyness and reserve, the manner in which you avoid me, 
the intentional coldness with which you meet me. Oh! 
even at this moment you would withdraw from me, hut 
I will not let you, Elise; I will compel your heart to 
reveal itself to me. I will move you with my devotion, 
my tender anxiety, so that the cruel crust will fall from 
your gentle and pure heart, and you will become again 
my candid and confiding sister. Oh, Elise, have com- 
passion on me! tell me what secret, mysterious charm 
has suddenly seized you; what wicked, hurtful demon 
has suddenly converted this bright ingenuous girl into a 
pale, sad, serious woman. Have courage and trust me, 
and let me read as in those happier days.” 

Elise looked at his noble countenance with a deep 
and painful emotion, and met his inquiring look with 
unabashed eye. 

“ Well, then,” said she, “ I will trust you, Bertram. 
I will tell you what I have confided to no human ear. 
Know, then, that my heart also has felt the pains which 


2S THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

affect yours. Know that an ardent, hopeless love burns 
my soul.” 

“A hopeless love?” asked Bertram. 

“ Yes, hopeless,” said she, firmly; “ for never can I 
hope for my father’s blessing on this love, and never, 
without it, will I leave my father’s house to follow the 
man I love.” 

“ The man you love!” cried Bertram, painfully. 
“ Does he also then love you, and does he know that you 
love him ? ” 

She looked at him with astonishment. “ Can one 
then love without being beloved?” asked she, with the 
unconscious pride of a young girl. 

“You are right,” said Bertram; “I was a fool to 
ask this question of you. But why do you doubt your 
fathers consent? Why do you not go confidingly to 
him and confess your love? But how? Is this love 
such that it dare not face the light, and must conceal 
itself from the eyes of your father? ” 

“ Yes, Bertram, it is such a love; but yet you must 
not doubt me, you must not think that this love which 
conceals itself frpm the eyes of my father need therefore 
fear the light of the world. My father would, perhaps, 
if he knew my secret, declare me unworthy of him; but 
never, be assured, never would I commit any act un- 
worthy of myself, and for which I would have to blush. 
It is possible that not only my father but the whole 
world would pronounce me guilty if it knew my love; 
but, believe me, that in the consciousness of my recti- 
tude I would have the courage to brave the verdict of 
the whole world, provided that my own heart acquitted 
me, and that I am guilty of no other crime than this 
accidental one, which fate, and not my own will and 
trespass, imposes on me. Love allows itself neither to 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


29 


be given nor taken, and when it cannot command for- 
tune, it can at least lighten misfortune. More I cannot 
tell you, my brother, and what is the use of words? 
Only depend on what I assure you, I will never be faith- 
less to my honor nor my love. You may think,” con- 
tinued she, proudly and passionately, “ that my love is a 
crime, but never that I could love unworthily, or that 
I could bow my head under the disgrace of a dishonor- 
able love.” 

She looked beautiful in her proud, flashing maiden- 
hood; and Bertram felt, as he looked on her handsome, 
glowing countenance, that he had never loved her so 
sincerely, and at the same time so painfully, as at this 
moment. 

“ Elise,” said he, grasping her hand, “ will you not 
have entire confidence in your brother? Will you not 
tell me the name of your lover? ” 

She shook her head earnestly. “ Only God and my 
heart dare know it.” 

“Elise,” continued he more urgently, “shall I tell 
you what has been whispered in my ear as I returned 
from a long absence? Shall I tell you what your ene- 
mies — for your youth and beauty and your father’s 
wealth have made you enemies — shall I tell you what 
your enemies whisper to each other with malicious joy? ” 

“ No, no! ” said she anxiously, “ how would it help 
me to know it ? ” 

Bertram continued inexorably, “ They say that the 
captive Russian, General Sievers, was welcomed by your 
father into his house as a friend, and that he over- 
whelmed the noble prisoner with kind attention.” 

Elise breathed more freely. “ It was with the con- 
sent and by the wish of the king that my father was 
kind to the captive Russian general.” 

3 


30 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


ff And was it also by the wish of the king that Gotz- 
kowsky’s daughter accepted the homage of the Russian 
general’s adjutant? ” 

A slight shudder ran through Elise’s whole frame, 
and her cheeks became crimson. 

“ Ah,” cried Bertram sadly, “ I see you understand 
me. You will not tell me the name of your lover — let 
me tell it to you. It is Feodor von Brenda.” 

“ No, no! ” cried Elise, looking around in alarm, 
and fearful lest some treacherous ear had heard the dan- 
gerous secret. 

“ Yes,” said Bertram, “ his name is Feodor von Bren- 
da; he serves as a colonel in the Russian army; he fights 
against our brothers and our king; he is the enemy of 
our country.” 

“ You have no pity on me,” cried Elise, wringing her 
hands, her eyes streaming with tears. “ You wish to 
kill me with your cruel words.” 

“ I wish to show to the daughter of the noblest and 
truest patriot, I wish to point out to the young, inexperi- 
enced, credulous maiden, to my sister, that she stands at 
the edge of an abyss. I wish to open her eyes that she 
may be aware of the danger which threatens her. I 
wish to draw her back from this abyss which threatens 
to engulf her.” 

“ It is too late,” said Elise, rising proudly and drying 
her tears. “ I know it all, Bertram; I stand at the edge 
of this abyss with open eyes, conscious of the danger; but 
I will not, cannot draw back, for my heart holds me fast.” 

Elise took leave of him with a sad smile, and hurried 
rapidly down the dark walk which led to the retired 
and unfrequented parts of the garden. 

Bertram looked after her until her pink dress disap- 
peared behind the dark foliage of the hedge. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


31 


“ She loves him,” murmured he, letting his head 
drop upon his breast, “ it is certain she loves him.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

FEODOR VON BRENDA. 

Elise directed her hasty steps toward the now re- 
tired parts of the garden. She longed to be alone. Her 
soul, agitated by painful emotions, required silence and 
solitude, in order to settle down again gently to rest and 
peace. Slowly, and with bowed head, she traversed the 
dark, silent garden-walks. Her thoughts wandered afar 
off, and she sought some little comfort, some relief from 
the privations of the present, in the sweet and blissful 
recollections of bygone days. 

“ What can keep him?” asked she of herself; and 
as she thought of him, her countenance assumed a cheer- 
ful, almost happy expression. “ He swore to brave every 
danger, every difficulty, in order to let me hear from 
him; and now, alas! ten weeks have passed, and no news, 
no token, from him. My God! is it possible that in all 
this long time he could have found no opportunity to 
write to me? — or perhaps his love has not survived the 
test of separation and silence.” 

At this thought she stopped, as if stunned, and 
pressed her hand to her breast. A sharp pain shot 
through her, and her heart seemed to cease to pulsate. 
But, in a moment, her countenance brightened up, and 
she murmured, with a gentle smile, “ Oh, to doubt his 
love were a greater treason than to love my country's 
enemy. Oh, no! Feodor, my heart does not doubt you; 


32 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


and notwithstanding your silence, I know that your 
heart answers mine, and that we are forever and insep- 
arably united.” 

With rapid step and cheerful mind she continued 
her wandering. She had now arrived at the darkest 
and most secluded part of the garden. Nothing stirred 
around her, and there was only heard the rustling of the 
dark fir-tree moved by the wind, or the melodious note 
of some bird hidden in the foliage. 

The garden, elsewhere so carefully and artistically 
tended, stretching from the Leipsic Street to the Pali- 
sades, which surrounded the town in lieu of a wall at that 
time, was here overgrown with underwood, protecting 
the more beautiful parts like a quickset hedge. But this 
hush was, besides, surrounded by a high wall, running 
immediately next to the Palisades, and bounding the 
whole hack part of the garden. It was seldom that any 
one wandered in this neighborhood, and Elise was cer- 
tain, therefore, that no inquisitive eye could watch her, 
no treacherous ear listen to her ,half-whispered words. 

She seated herself on a bench under a tree, not far 
from the wall, and looked up dreamingly and thought- 
fully at the patches of blue sky visible through the tree- 
tops. Her whole soul was sunk in reminiscence. Ah, 
how often had she sat here, hut not alone — not with this 
painful longing in her heart, hut in the fullest content- 
ment of happiness, listening with delighted ear to words 
spoken by him who sat next to her, holding her hand in 
his, and gazing on her with looks which made her heart 
tremble with happiness! Here, on this spot, he had 
taken leave of her, and since then it had become/ as it 
were, the temple of her recollections, to which she daily 
made her pilgrimage to offer up her devout, sincere, and 
ardent prayer of love. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


33 


She sat and looked up to heaven, and her ear, dwell- 
ing on words which had died away long ago, did not 
hear sounds which were perceptible on the other side of 
the wall. It appeared as if some one were striving to 
climb it, and indeed there could be now seen a hand 
feeling about, and then a man’s figure rising above the 
wall. 

Cautiously spying around, large flashing eyes looked 
into the garden. One moment the figure rested upon 
the wall, as if exhausted by the exertion, or listening 
for some sound. It was a young man, in the garb of a 
peasant, who sat upon the wall; but the heavy, black 
mustache little suited this peaceful dress, and his bold 
air, verging on insolence, seemed to challenge the dan- 
gers which surrounded him. 

He rested for a moment on the wall, and listened 
attentively. Then he drew a pistol from his breast, and 
examined carefully its lock and barrel. He then cocked 
it, and holding it in one hand, began carefully and 
noiselessly to descend. With one leap he sprang to the 
ground; the leaves rustled under his feet, and again 
he stood motionless in a listening attitude. His glance 
was as keen and bright as that of an eagle, and it 
seemed to penetrate the dark foliage. Suddenly a light 
flashed across his countenance, and a smile of delight 
played about his lips. He had seen the young girl, who 
was seated on the bench lost in deep thought, and that 
he had recognized her was betrayed by his animated ex- 
pression. Quietly, carefully, he drew nearer, ever and 
again standing still and listening. Then he stood close 
behind her at the tree. Again he listens, but every 
thing is silent and hushed. Now he calls her softly by 
name, and whispers almost inaudibly, “Elise! ” 

She started and looked up, but saw no one, and as 


34 : THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

she recovered herself, she sighed gently, and said: “I 
was mistaken, it was only the wind.” 

But again he whispered: “ Start not, Elise; do not 
utter a word or cry! ” 

“ 0 God! ” murmured she in a low tone, trembling 
in all her limbs. An ardent embrace, a glowing kiss 
upon her brow, and a well-beloved voice whispered her 
name. 

“ Feodor!” uttered she faintly. Overcome by the 
sudden violence of her feelings, her head dropped lan- 
guidly on his breast. Then, drawing herself up, she 
gazed at him, and her eager, loving look encountered his 
flashing eye. She was, as it were, fascinated — happy as 
in a dream, and yet conscious of the most delicious 
waking. 

a Do you know me, Elise? Do you recognize your 
Feodor in spite of his disguise ? ” 

“ Oh, speak again,” said she as he ceased. “ It is so 
long since I have heard your voice! ” 

“ Ten weeks have passed,” said he, pressing her still 
closer to his heart, “ without my being able to see you or 
convey to you any information. I could endure it no 
longer. I said to myself, ‘ God is the friend of lovers/ 
and so I disguised myself as you see me, and ventured 
here.” 

Elise started up and gazed at him anxiously. Awak- 
ing from her ecstasy of delight, she just began to he con- 
scious of the present. 

“ Good heavens! ” she cried, “ danger threatens you.” 

Death, if I am found here! ” said he, solemnly—— 
“ death, if it is known in the Russian camp whv I came 
here! ” 

She uttered a cry, and clung anxiously to him. 
“ You should not have come here,” said she, trembling. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 35 

“ My God, if my father should find you here! It was 
cruel of you to come.” 

“ It would have been more cruel,” said he, smiling, 
“ if, being so near you, I had not come at all. I have 
watched and yearned so long for this meeting; I have 
longed so to read in your eyes that you have not for- 
gotten me! Why do you cast them down, Elise?” 

“ Because, Feodor, you have already read too much 
in them, more than my father would ever forgive.” 

“ Your father was always kind and friendly toward 
me, but at that time I was his prisoner, now he regards 
me only as the enemy of his country; and yet, Elise, my 
object here is any thing hut that of an enemy. It is not 
only the desire but also the anxiety of love which brings 
me here. Listen to me — my time is limited, and I am 
lost if I linger too long; but I had to see you to warn 
you, to avert the danger which threatens you, and all of 
you. Listen, therefore. Your father is the most power- 
ful and influential man in Berlin. His influence will go 
far with the council and the citizens. Entreat him, 
Elise, to use all his influence to avert a terrible bloodshed 
from this city.” 

Elise shook her head seriously and sadly. Her sweet 
dream was dissipated; she was now no longer the dream- 
ing, loving girl, hut a conscious, reasoning, collected 
woman. 

“How can my father do that?” said she, doubt- 
ingly. 

“ He must persuade the citizens to yield without 
fighting.” 

“ That my father will never do,” said she, warmly. 

“Yes, he will do it,” replied her lover, “when he 
learns that all fighting is useless. Let him have com- 
passion on his native town, on himself. You are all 


36 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


lost if you fight. Already twelve thousand of our men, 
under General Tottleben, stand before the gates. At 
this moment, while I am speaking, Tschernitscheff, with 
twenty thousand regulars, is approaching from the other 
side. Count Lacy, too, with his Austrians, is drawing 
near. All this tell your father. Tell him, also, that 
General Tottleben has promised our Empress Elizabeth 
to take Berlin, if he has to lay it in ruins and ashes. 
Use all your influence, implore him to do all in his power 
to persuade the citizens to a peaceful surrender.” 

“ I have no influence over my father,” said she, sadly, 
“ and if I had I would not abuse it. Such a surrender, 
without a fight, would be cowardice.” 

“ But a fight, with the assured certainty of defeat, 
would be madness. Your father does not know the 
number of troops massed around Berlin. Do you tell 
him.” 

She looked at him mournfully. “ And shall I tell 
him, too, from whom I received this information? ” 

After a little reflection, he replied: “ Yes, if it can- 
not he otherwise, tell him. Your father will not betray 
me.” 

“ N o, but he will curse his daughter,” cried Elise, 
painfully — “ curse her for having had intercourse with 
our country’s enemy, while the Russian cannon threaten 
our town. No, no, Feodor, it were no use to warn him. 
My father would not listen to me.” 

“ So Berlin will run toward its ruin, and I cannot 
prevent it,” said the colonel, sadly. “ I have done all in 
my power. I wish to requite your father for all the 
kindness he has shown me, and for that reason I risked 
my life in order to warn him.” 

“ Believe me, Feodor, I will never forget you for it,” 
said she, offering him both her hands. “ However angry 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


37 


iny father may be, my heart still remains yours. Love 
does not recognize any national hatred. It yields itself 
without reserve to him who has won it.” 

She leaned her head upon his breast, and he im- 
printed a kiss upon her forehead. 

" Thank you for these words,” said he; " wherever I 
go they shall be my talisman.” 

" Are you going already?” asked she, anxiously. 

" I must go, Elise,” replied he. 

“ Oh, Feodor, I dare not hid you stay. I tremble 
at the thought of my father seeing you,” sighed she; 
"but when, my beloved, when shall we see each other 
again ? ” 

He looked at her a long time with a steady, pierc- 
ing glance. He then exclaimed, almost rudely: " You 
have sworn me love and constancy till death. Ho you 
remember it? ” 

" I remember it, and never will I be faithless to my 
vow,” whispered she, smiling through her tears. 

" You swore to me never to belong to any one but 
me. Have you f oVgotten that ? ” 

"Ho, I have not.” 

" Well, then,” said he, rising, " we shall soon see 
each other again.” 

" When, Feodor, when? ” 

"When Berlin is in our hands,” said he, smiling 
proudly; "when we enter your gates as conquerors.” 

She shuddered painfully. He saw it, and a hateful, 
mocking expression passed across his features; but this 
lasted only a moment, and his changeable countenance 
appeared again bright and loving. He took Elise’s hand 
and pressed it to his lips. 

" Will you, even at such a time, allow me to see you? 
Will you, faithful to your vow, remember that my Elise 


38 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


has sworn by God and her love never to turn a deaf ear 
to my call? Will you expect me?” asked he, coax- 
ingly. 

“ I will,” answered she, in a low voice. 

“And I will come,” cried he, passionately, “if the 
way to you leads over mountains of dead bodies! ” 

She threw herself into his open arms, and nestled 
like a timid dove on his breast. 

“ Oh! ” cried she, “ when danger threatens you, then 
I think I would like to be a man to share it with you.” 

He coyered her lips and eyes with kisses. “Fare- 
well, farewell, Elise; and if it is God’s will, we will meet 
again.” 

One last kiss, one last embrace, and he tore himself 
from her arms and hurried toward the wall. How he 
climbs it, and throws his last greetings to her, then de- 
scends on the other side. 

“ He is gone, he is gone! ” she shrieked, and, falling 
on her knees, raised her hands to heaven. “ 0 God, 
have mercy on me, have pity on my love! ” 

It seemed as if God did grant her prayer, for a thick 
veil sank over her eyes, and a swoon robbed her of con- 
sciousness. 


CHAPTER Y. 

MR. KRETSCHMER, OF THE VOSSIAN GAZETTE. 

The editor of the Vossian Gazette , Mr. Kretschmer, 
sat at his desk, busily writing. That he was a learned 
man was seen by his earnest, care-worn forehead, his 
large, well-powdered wig, and above all by the disorder 
and confusion which reigned in the whole room. Be- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


39 


sides which, Mr. Kretschmer wore a dressing-gown, 
thickly sprinkled with ink-spots, the official robe of his 
literary dignity. And whosoever beheld him in this 
robe, his long pipe in his mouth, filling the room with a 
thick blue smoke, seated on his high tripod before his, 
desk, could not but believe that Mr. Kretschmer was a 
learned man. 

But more than this, he was a great politician. There- 
to testified the numerous journals which lay scattered 
about on the floor, but more especially the nineteen 
quarto volumes, which stood above on the book-shelf, 
lettered in gold on the back, “Vossian Gazette,” and 
under that the number of the year, from 1740 to 1759. 
The Vossian Gazette was then a young, blooming rose, 
of scarcely nineteen summers. It could still pass for a 
vigorous, handsome, and perhaps even innocent young 
maiden; and Mr. Kretschmer was the editor of the 
Vossian Gazette. Had he not, then, a right to be re- 
garded as a great politician ? 

Mr. Kretschmer was at this moment occupied in 
writing an article for the next morning’s paper, and as 
he had just received news “by special courier” of an- 
other battle, subsequent to that of Liegnitz, which had re- 
sulted favorably for the Prussians, he was composing, 
with the courage of a lion, an extra, which fairly glowed 
with ardent hatred against the oppressors and cannibals, 
namely, the Russians and the Austrians; and declared 
that the salvation of all Germany depended on the su- 
preme dominion of Prussia. 

The bold editor of the Vossian Gazette in this article 
called upon the people to fly to arms against the “ in- 
cendiary oppressors of Freedom and the people’s rights,” 
as he called the Russians; he exhorted even the women 
and girls to fight, and called upon them to grasp the 


40 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


sword in their tender hands instead of the needle. Fi- 
nally, he entreated all Berlin, if ever the incendiary ene- 
my should approach the gates, rather to let the whole city 
be destroyed by fire, and bury themselves in the ruins 
before they submitted to the foe. 

Mr. Kretschmer then laid his pen down, and revised 
with a satisfied look what he had written. 

“ That will have an effect/* said he, rubbing his 
hands together, delighted. “ When his majesty, our 
heroic king, returns victorious to Berlin, I will send him 
this sheet of the Vossian Gazette , and I know that he will 
be satisfied with my heroism.** 

He looked again at the paper. “ Beautiful, beauti- 
ful! ** exclaimed he, with a self-satisfied smile. “ My 
pen has shot nothing less than bomb-shells and grape, 
and my ink has turned into whole streams of the ene- 
my’s blood. And why should I not he hold, it being 
perfectly safe, since the king must certainly be victori- 
ous, and the enemy has no idea of visiting Berlin? 
Tschernitscheff and Tottlehen are quietly encamped on 
the other side of the Oder; Soltikoff with his army is near 
Frankfort, and Count Lacy with his Austrians is wait- 
ing an opportunity to give battle to our king. Thus, 
as I said, I can safely exhort the good citizens of Berlin 
to defend themselves heroically against the infamous 
spoiler. How beautifully this peroration sounds: f Peo- 
ple of Berlin! rather let yourselves be buried under the 
ruins of your burning city than submit to an incendiary 
enemy! * Incendiary” repeated he thoughtfully, “that 
is rather a strong expression, and if the Russians do 
come, they will revenge themselves for it; hut, pshaw! 
the Russians are not coming, and I can safely send this 
article to the press. And, furthermore, did not the 
king himself stigmatize the Russians as such? Yes, I 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


41 


remember last year, after the unfortunate invasion of the 
Russians, he looked down from the steeple in Frankfort 
upon the devastation of the country, and cried out with 
angry indignation, 4 Incendiaries! incendiaries! ’ The 
expression is at least official, and can therefore re- 
main.” 

Mr. Kretschmer seized the bell-rope, and began to 
ring violently. Immediately the door opened, and a 
small boy entered with a portfolio under his arm. 

44 Devil,” said Mr. Kretschmer, majestically, 44 here is 
my article; run as fast as you can to the printing-office 
with it, and impress upon the compositor the necessity 
of haste, and, above all things, not to make such mis- 
takes as he did lately, when, in speaking of the Russians, 
he put 4 friends ’ instead of 4 fiends/ which was an un- 
pardonable and most treasonable error of expression.” 

The little boy took the paper and laid it in his port- 
folio. 

44 The printer told me to ask you,” said he, 44 if you 
had written nothing yet for the 4 Miscellaneous.’ 
Spener’s Journal had yesterday such a beautiful 4 Mis- 
cellaneous/ and told about a woman who had four chil- 
dren at a birth, and a stork which had arrived and built 
its nest, although it was the month of October.” 

Mr. Kretschmer frowned. 44 Spener’s Journal al- 
ways has some wonderful news, and amuses the Berlin 
people with all kinds of stupid gossip,” grumbled he. 
44 The rivalry of such a paper is unbearable.” 

44 Well, how about the miscellaneous intelligence?” 
asked the printer’s boy. 

Mr. Kretschmer stamped his foot angrily. 44 Go to 
the devil! ” said he. 

At this moment there was heard a loud crying and 
shouting; and while the printer’s boy pitched out of the 


42 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

door, Mr. Kretschmer hurried to the window to find out 
the cause of the uproar. 

A heaving, noisy crowd filled the street below, and 
had halted right under the editor’s window. In the 
midst thereof was seen the tall, lank figure of a man, 
whose extraordinary appearance enchained the attention 
of the multitude, and excited afresh their shouts and de- 
risive laughter. And, in fact, nothing could be more 
striking or fantastic than this man. Notwithstanding 
the cool October weather, his gigantic figure was clothed 
from head to foot in gray linen, harmonizing strangely 
with the gray color of his skin and hair, which latter fell 
in long locks from his uncovered head down on his 
shoulders, and gave to the apparition the semblance of a 
pyramidical ash-heap, out of which his eyes shone like 
two burning coals. Around his shoulders hung a long 
cloak of gray linen, which, in addressing the multitude, 
he sometimes threw around him in picturesque folds, 
sometimes spread out wide, enveloping his long arms in 
it, so that he looked like an expanded hat. 

“Ah! it is Pfannenstiel, our prophetic linen- 
weaver,” said Mr. Kretschmer, smiling, as he opened his 
window, and exchanged a look of recognition with the 
man who was gazing up at him. 

The linen-weaver and prophet had rapidly acquired 
some renown in Berlin by his prophecies and predictions. 
The people believed in his mystic words and soothsayings 
and mistaken fanaticism. He related to them his vi- 
sions and apparitions; he told about the angels and 
the Lord Jesus, who often visited him; about the Virgin 
Mary, who appeared in his room every night, and in- 
spired him with what he was to say to the people, and 
gave him pictures whose mystic signification he was to 
interpret to them. The prophet possessed more than a 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


43 


hundred of these pictures, given him by celestial appari- 
tions. He had them carefully pasted together, and 
rolled up always with him. These pictorial sheets, 
roughly painted on coarse paper, served the linen-weaver 
in lieu of cards or coffee-grounds, for the purpose of 
prophesying to the people and announcing the future 
to them; and the good folks of Berlin believed in these 
prophecies with firm faith, arid listened with devout 
confidence to the words of their prophet. 

Pfannenstiel was in the act of unrolling his pictures, 
and the multitude, which, just before, had been shouting 
and screaming, became suddenly silent, and gazed up at 
the weaver with intense expectation. A breathless silence 
ensued, and, far down the street, sounded the prophet’s 
loud and sonorous voice. He pointed to the last of his 
pictures, which, in coarse, clumsy drawing, represented 
a town, from the houses of which flames arose in the 
most variegated colors. 

“ Behold! behold! ” cried the prophet, “ and fall on 
your knees and pray! Yes, pray! for I tell you the 
Holy Ghost appeared to me, His wings dripping with 
blood, and in His burning and flaming beak He held 
this picture which I now show you.” 

“ Well, then, how is it that the picture is not burnt 
too, if the Holy Ghost held it in His burning beak? ” 
asked an impudent shoemaker’s boy. 

A low laugh ran through the crowd, but this was 
soon suppressed by angry, threatening voices, command- 
ing silence and quiet. 

The prophet turned with an air of majestic com- 
posure toward the questioner: “Why was not this pic- 
ture burnt? Because God wished to perform a miracle, 
to manifest Himself to me in His glory, and to prove to 
me that this vision was from Him, and not from the 


44 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


devil. Yes, indeed, God gave me this picture that we 
might be warned— not to terrify us. Listen, therefore, 
to my voice, and learn what God announces to you from 
my mouth.” 

“ I like indeed to hear what the stupid rascal 

is going to announce to these poor foolish devils,” mut- 
tered Mr. Kretschmer, leaning out of the window and 
listening attentively. 

Pfannenstiel continued: “ Behold these columns of 
fire rising from the houses of this town. This town is 
Berlin, and the fire will burst out of the roofs of your 
houses. Woe! woe! will sound in your streets, and weep- 
ing and lamentation will fill the air. I say unto you, 
watch and pray! Strew ashes on your heads, and fall 
down on your knees and pray to God for mercy, for the 
enemy is before your gates, and ere the sun sets the Rus- 
sians will enter your town! I say unto you, verily I say 
unto you, God spoke to me in a voice of thunder, and 
said, ‘ The Russians are coming! , Fall down and pray, 
for the Russians are coming! ” 

“ The Russians are coming! ” cried the terrified mul- 
titude and some among them turned pale. The weep- 
ing women folded their hands in prayer; the men looked 
around timidly, and the frightened children clung to 
their mothers in dread of the Russians, whose name was, 
synonymous with that of savages and cannibals. Even 
Kretschmer could not help feeling somewhat terrified. 
He drew hack thoughtfully from the window, mutter- 
ing with a shudder, “ The Russians are coming! ” 

The people crowded around the prophet in still nar- 
rower circles, and in more piercing tones wept and cried 
out: What shall we do? What shall we do to be saved? 
Have mercy, 0 God! Have mercy on Berlin, for the 
Russians are coming! ” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


45 


“ Yes, they are coming! ” cried Pfannenstiel. “ God 
told me so in the roll of His thunder and the lightning 
of His eyes; and he said to me: ‘ Go and say to the peo- 
ple of Berlin, “ The Russians are coming!” and thou 
shalt see in the same hour how their hearts will shrink, 
and how cast down they will be; how their eyes will run 
tears, and their lips utter prayers, for the Russian is the 
sworn enemy of the Berlin people; and as often as the 
cry, “ The Russians are coming,” sounds through the 
streets of Berlin, there will be wailing and lamentation 
in every house and every heart; and they will how down 
in timid contrition and abject obedience. Speak, there- 
fore, to them, and say, “ The Russians are coming! ” 
that they may become humble and quiet; that the proud 
word may be silenced on their lips, and that they may 
submit in peace.’ ” 

“ What shall we do? ” asked the people. “ Help us, 
advise us, for thou art our prophet.” 

Pfannenstiel drew himself up to his utmost height, 
and an expression of triumphant cunning sparkled in 
his eyes. “ Do you not understand the voice of God? 
God commands you to withdraw in silence and peace to 
your own dwellings, to weep and pray. Go, then! Let 
the word of your mouth and the rebelliousness of your 
hearts be silent. Go home to your huts, shut the doors 
and windows, and do not venture out, for without, death 
and the Russians await you! ” 

Obedient to the voice of their prophet, the crowd 
separated in different directions, and dispersed quietly. 

Pfannenstiel looked after them with a smile of scorn; 
then silently rolled up his pictures, threw his gray cloak 
over his shoulders, and, casting a serious and significant 
look up at Mr. Kretschmer’s window, strode down the 
street slowly and with an air of majestic dignity. 

4 


46 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE COWARDS’ RACE. 

The warning sounded loud and threatening in Mr. 
Kretschmer’s ears — “ The Russians are coming! ” A 
cold chill ran through him, and he could not prevent an 
involuntary shudder. But he tried to rouse himself 
from this despondency, and laughed at himself for this 
credulous fear. 

“ This Pfannenstiel is a fool, and I would be a great- 
er one if I believed his nonsense,” said he. “ No, no, 
my information is warranted and authentic. The king 
has had a sharp skirmish with the Russians near Reit- 
wan, and driven them back, and then proceeded quietly 
to Meissen. Thus there is no ground for anxiety, and 
I can safely let off my bomb-shells against the Rus- 
sians.” 

Mr. Kretschmer felt his courage return and his heart 
grow warm. 

“ Now I see the whole game,” cried he, laughing. 
Pfannenstiel wishes the Vossian Gazette to take notice 
of him. He wants to be talked about, and wishes the 
newspapers to spread his reputation. For that reason 
he stationed himself right under my window, for that 
reason he cast such significant looks at me, for that 
reason he addressed the crowd and poured forth his non- 
sense right here. Yes, that’s it! He wishes to prove to 
me how great his power is over this people which believes 
in him, even when he utters the most incredible and un- 
heard-of things. Well, we can help the man,” con- 
tinued he, laughing, as he stepped to his desk. “ The 
desired article for the ‘ Miscellaneous ’ is found, and I 
think that the prophetic linen-weaver, Pfannenstiel, is 


i 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


47 


well worth more than the four children at a birth and 
the miserable stork’s nest of yesterday’s Spener’s Jour- 
nal. Let’s write it off quickly.” 

Kretschmer began to write most industriously, when 
he was suddenly interrupted by a violent knocking at the 
door. It opened, and a stately old gentleman entered, 
with well-powdered wig and long queue. 

“ Mr. Krause, my worthy colleague! ” exclaimed 
Kretschmer, jumping up and hastening toward the old 
man. But Mr. Krause had no word of greeting. He 
sank sighing into a chair. 

“ Do you know the news? ” asked he, in a whining 
tone, folding his trembling hands, and looking at 
Kretschmer timidly, as he stood before him. 

“ Know what?” demanded the latter in reply, feel- 
ing his heart sink. 

“ The Russians are coming! ” sighed Mr. Krause. 

“ That is a silly tale,” cried Kretschmer peevishly, 
with an impatient gesture. 

“ Would to God it were!” groaned Krause; “but 
the news is, alas, but too true, and it can no longer be 
doubted! ” 

“ Man of misfortune,” cried Mr. Kretschmer, “ who 
told you so? ” 

“ Pfannenstiel.” 

“ Pfannenstiel ? ” repeated Kretschmer, laughing 
heartily; “ oh, yes! Pfannenstiel prophesied it just now 
in the streets, under my window. Mow don’t distress 
yourself, dearest friend and colleague. That was only a 
clumsy trick of the scoundrel to get me to write an article 
about him in the Vossian Gazette. I have already grati- 
fied his wish.” 

“ You are mistaken,” said Krause, mournfully. “ I 
sent Pfannenstiel into the streets, to quiet the people, 


48 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


and to admonish them to behave peaceably and soberly, 
even if the Russians should come.” 

“ Oh! you believe in all these dreams of Pf annen- 
stiel? ” 

“I believe in the truth, and in what I know! ” ex- 
v claimed Krause emphatically. “ Pf annenstiel has for a 
long time been my agent, and for a considerable stipend, 
paid every month, informs me of all that happens, is 
talked and thought of in the town. He is a very useful 
man, peculiarly suited to this service.” 

“ The approach of the Russians is then town-talk, 
and nothing more?” asked Kretschmer, who was still 
anxious to throw doubt on the bad news. 

“No, it is a fact,” said Krause seriously. “Pf an- 
nenstiel is, as you know, not only a prophet, but also a 
quack doctor, and his herbs and decoctions are certainly 
often of astonishing efficacy. He always gathers the 
plants for his mixtures himself, and roams about in 
search of them in the neighborhood of Berlin for days 
together. Last evening he was outside the town, on one 
of these tramps, intending to pass the night sleeping 
under a tree. He was awoke by the sound of troops 
marching, and as he looked carefully around, he could 
plainly distinguish in the bright moonlight the uniforms 
of the Russian army. It was a long column of many 
thousand men. They halted not far from the place 
where Pf annenstiel lay, and he crept carefully nearer. 
He then ascertained from their conversation that this 
was only a small division of the army, which had ad- 
vanced by forced marches from Frankfort, and was 
commanded by General Tottleben.” 

“By Tottleben! ” cried Kretschmer in dismay. 

“Yes, by Tottleben,” whimpered Krause, and they 
both looked in silence on the ground. “Yes, his ven- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


49 


geance will be terrible/’ said Krause, after a long and 
anxious pause. “ Have you not heard/’ continued he in 
a whisper — “ have you not heard the sad story of what 
occurred last year in Erlangen?* The editor of the 
Erlangen Gazette admitted into his columns an article 
abusive of our great king. A Prussian officer came in 
person to Erlangen to call the editor to account. And 
what do you think he did? He caused the unfortunate 
and pitiable journalist to be beaten with cudgels, and 
then gave him a receipt for the bastinado he had gotten.” 

“ Horrible! ” cried Mr. Kretschmer, wringing his 
hands. 

Mr. Krause continued: “ When a refined Prussian 
officer can behave in this way, what have we to expect 
from these rough, uncivilized enemies, the Russians? 
Oh! they will murder us, for we, too, have ventured to 
write boldly and energetically against them.” 

“ Yes, you particularly,” said Mr. Kretschmer quick- 
ly. “ Do you recollect the famous article in your paper, 
in which you called General Tottleben a notorious adven- 
turer, who had deserted to the enemy after having en- 
joyed the unmerited favor of our king? This was, cer- 
tainly,' rather strong; it might even be called indiscreet.” 

“ Hot as indiscreet as your ‘ Earnest and Confidential 
Country Talk/ ” cried Krause sharply. 

“ I never avowed myself the author of that pam- 
phlet,” said Kretschmer quickly. 

“ But every one knows that you are, and you never 
denied it,” replied Krause maliciously. “ This ‘ Coun- 
try Talk ’ is more than indiscreet, it is foolhardy. In 
it you nicknamed Maria Theresa, Aunt Tilla; the Elec- 
tor of Saxony, Brother Osten; the Empress of Russia, 
Cousin Lizzy; and our king, Neighbor Flink. And 
don’t you remember what words you put into Cousin 


50 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Lizzie’s mouth, and how you made neighbor Flink ridi- 
cule her? Ah, I am afraid you will pay dearly for this 
piece of boldness.” 

“ It is not quite so bad as your calling Tottleben a 
notorious adventurer; for the princes are not here, but 
Tottleben is before the gates of Berlin, and will revenge 
himself.” 

“ I am afraid our prospects are equally had, and for 
that reason I have come to you, that we might consult 
together as to what we had best do, to avert this threat- 
ening blow from our heads.” 

“ You are right,” said Kretschmer, drawing nearer 
to his brother editor. “ Let us consider. Above all 
things, no exciting calls, no appeals to the people to per- 
form deeds of heroic valor. Berlin is too weak for de- 
fence; why, then, should we irritate the enemy by use- 
less opposition? ” 

“You, too, are right,” said Krause thoughtfully; 
“ let us rather advise the citizens of Berlin to be quiet; 
let us wheel boldly round, and speak in our journals with 
respect and deference of our worthy enemy.” 

“ Besides which, it would he well to consult with 
some of the principal men who have an influence on the 
people. For example, let us go to Gotzkowsky,” said 
Kretschmer. 

“ Gotzkowsky gives a great holiday to his workmen 
to-day.” 

“ So much the better, for then he can immediately 
use his influence on his workmen. Come, let us go at 
once to Gotzkowsky, this Croesus of Berlin, who bought 
for our king three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of 
pictures in Italy, without having been paid for them up 
to this day, and yet is able to take a contract for commis- 
sary stores to the amount of eight millions. Let us go 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


51 

to him; and, hark ye! it would he as well to take Pfan- 
nenstiel with us to back us.” 

“ Yes,” said Krause, raising himself quickly by the 
arm of his younger friend, “ let us go to Gotzkowsky 
with Pfannenstiel, and preach mildness and sub mi ssion 
to him and his workmen.” 

They both prepared to go. Suddenly Kretschmer 
stopped as if struck by lightning, and sank down on a 
chair stunned. “ My article, my article! ” moaned he. 
“lama lost man! ” 

“ What article do you mean, my dearest friend? ” 

“ The leading article in to-morrow’s paper,” whim- 
pered Kretschmer. “ Oh, it was a beautiful article, full 
of inspiration, but it is not suitable to the times or the 
circumstances. I wrote it under the erroneous impres- 
sion that our armies had gained a victory, and in it I 
spoke with great contempt of the incendiary enemy.” 

“ My God, what rashness! ” exclaimed Krause, 
clasping his hands in despair. 

Kretschmer flew from his stool, and grasped his hat. 
“ My article! I must have my article back. The printer 
must give it up to me. Wait for me in the street. I 
come either with my article or not at all.” 

Bidding Krause a hasty farewell, he hurried out. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE INTERRUPTED FESTIVAL. 

Gotzkowsky had as yet received no intelligence of 
the danger which threatened the town, and was enjoying 
the festival in his garden in the midst of his people. 


52 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


They were all collected on a grass-plat for target- 
shooting. In the midst of the plat rose a pole with a 
target. The women and girls were standing around, 
attentively and curiously watching the men, who, col- 
lected under a tent, were shooting with crossbows at the 
target. Every lucky shot was greeted with a cheer, 
every unlucky one with derisive laughter; and the 
prizes which were assigned to the fortunate marksmen 
only served to increase the joy and merriment of the 
happy crowd. 

Suddenly loud cries of weeping and lamentation 
were heard from a distance. The people looked at each 
other with anxiety and alarm. The dismal noise came 
nearer and still nearer, and then appeared at the en- 
trance gate near by the strange and wild figure of the 
linen-weaver, accompanied by the two editors, Krause 
and Kretschmer. 

“ Pfannenstiel! it is Pfannenstiel, our prophet!” 
shouted the crowd, while they hastened with joyous 
laughter and words of greeting toward their beloved 
seer. 

The linen-weaver strode forward with a serious and 
majestic air, answering the greetings of the workmen 
with patronizing nods, and from time to time stretch- 
ing out his hand as if to bless them. The multitude 
crowded around him, and seemed to look upon the ad- 
vent of the prophet as part of the programme of the 
entertainment. But Gotzkowsky hastened toward the 
two editors with a cheerful smile, bidding them a courte- 
ous welcome. They responded to his friendly greeting 
with a solemn earnestness, and requested a conference 
with a mysterious and important air. Gotzkowsky 
looked at them with astonishment; hut as he read in 
their countenances an expression of deep and anxious 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


53 


concern, he motioned to them and preceded them to a 
summer-house on the other side of the lawn. 

“ Here we can talk without being observed/’ said he, 
casting a look across at his workmen. “ You see my 
guests are still busy with the scarecrow which you 
brought here; and what business has this man, indeed, 
among merry people?” 

“ He maintains that God ordered him to come to you, 
to warn you in His name, and call upon you to protect 
Berlin,” said Krause. 

“ Yes,” continued Kretschmer, “ and he entreated 
us to accompany him, trusting to our influence with our 
dear friend.” 

Gotzkowsky looked at both of the men with aston- 
ishment. “ Tell me, my worthy friends, which of us 
is crazy?” asked he, smiling, partly in derision, partly 
in pity. “ I am called on to protect Berlin, and from 
what ? ” 

“ Because the Russians are coming,” said Mr. Krause, 
solemnly. 

Gotzkowsky shrugged his shoulders. “ That is an 
idle rumor,” said he; “two days ago they -were still in 
Frankfort. You see, therefore, that seme wag has 
amused himself by teasing you and frightening you a 
little for the thunderbolts which you two, and particu- 
larly the Vossian Gazette , have launched against the 
Russians.” 

Mr. Kretschmer shuddered and turned pale. “ I beg 
you,” cried he, “do not speak of it! Good Heavens! 
the Vossian Gazette is the organ of the popular mind, 
and it is its duty to take each day the exact tone of 
public opinion. I abused the Russians, therefore, be- 
cause — ” 

“ Because they were still a hundred miles from Ber- 


54 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

lin. Oh, yes! we know you, gentlemen of the press. 
You are full of courage as long as no enemy is in the 
field, but as soon as you scent him and see the points 
of his lances, you become quite humble and mild; and 
when he comes threateningly down upon you, assure him 
of your respect and swear to him that you love him,” in- 
terrupted Gotzkowsky. 

“ You are pleased to jest,” said Mr. Krause, casting a 
rapid glance of hatred at Gotzkowsky; “ it is well, in- 
deed, that the rich and powerful Gotzkowsky is so cheer- 
ful. I will notice it in my journal. It is news for 
’Change, and the funds will rise when people hear that 
Gotzkowsky has laughed.” 

Gotzkowsky’s countenance became sad and serious. 
“You may tell the world,” said he, “that my lips 
laugh; but how my heart feels, that you gossips and 
newspapers know nothing about.” 

“ God be praised,” said Kretschmer, ironically, “ you 
are now talking earnestly, and I can request you to listen 
to our serious representations. It is no idle rumor that 
I have told you. The Russians are already at the gates 
of Berlin. They have hurried thither by forced marches. 
This news is no longer a secret. All Berlin knows it, 
and it is only accidentally that you have not learned it 
earlier.” 

Oh, Heavens! ” sobbed Krause, wringing his 
hands, what a terrible fate awaits our unfortunate 
town! ” 

Gotzkowsky looked at him with a gloomy frown. 

“ You are, it is true, an old man,” said he, “ but even 
old men should, at such a time, possess some manhood. 
But you, Mr. Kretschmer, are young and hearty; what 
do you say to this approach of the Russians? ” 

“ I say,” replied Kretschmer, sharply, “ I say that it 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


55 


would be madness to excite the wrath of the enemy by 
resistance. I say, that those citizens who call on the 
people to fight are rash fools.” 

“ Oh! ” cried Gotzkowsky, joyfully, “ if there be any 
such rash fools , then all is not lost! ” 

“Can you comprehend such madness?” whispered 
Krause, “ to wish to oppose an overwhelming force while 
all our capable men and youths are with the army in 
Silesia, and we have no troops but the sick and maimed; 
no artillery save two old rusty cannon ? ” 

“A people willing to fight for liberty,” cried Gotz- 
kowsky, “ such a people have the strength of a giant 
even without cannon and bayonets. God has given 
them hands and paving-stones. If we cannot shoot 
down the enemy who threatens our liberty, we can beat 
him down.” 

“ What do you say? ” stammered Krause, looking 
with amazement at Gotzkowsky’s glowing countenance. 

“ I say,” said Gotzkowsky, “ that you have mistaken 
your man. I will not advise the brave Berlin, people to 
yield without having at least fought for their freedom.” 

“ But only reflect! ” exclaimed Kretschmer, while 
Krause paced up and down, wringing his hands and 
moaning in a low tone; “have you forgotten that the 
Russian generals have proclaimed that the empress has 
commanded them to leave nothing but air and earth to 
the inhabitants of every conquered town and province 
of Prussia? ” 

“Oh, pshaw!” cried Gotzkowsky, laughing, “they 
will have to conclude to leave us something more.” 

“And did you hear Loudon’s terrible threat? He 
has said his soldiers should massacre every one, and not 
spare even the child in its mother’s womb.” 

“ And did you not hear the brave Schwerin’s answer 


56 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


to this Austrian bravado?” asked Gotzkowsky. “ He 
said, ‘ My soldiers are not with child, neither am 1/ 
Well, our men of Berlin are not with child, and there- 
fore they need not he afraid.” 

“ Brit you must be afraid! ” whined Krause. “ It is 
disgraceful madness not to be afraid. How! You can 
be so unreasonable as to advise war? But war is the 
most bitter enemy of prosperity, and threatens property 
above all things.” 

“ Then shame on the proprietors,” cried Gotzkowsky, 
“ if their property is to make cowardly poltroons of 
them! Liberty is our greatest possession, and all else 
must yield to it.” 

At this moment loud cries and sounds of wailing 
were heard in the garden from the collected workmen, 
who surrounded the prophet in a dense group, and lis- 
tened to his prophecies with anxious wonder as he ut- 
tered them from a high bench. 

Gotzkowsky frowned. “Ah, I understand!” said 
he, “this good linen-weaver is your accomplice, my 
brave gentlemen, and as you wish to convert me, so does 
he wish to convert my honest workmen into old women. 
Let us see first in what sort of gibberish he preaches his 
wisdom to these good people.” 

Without taking any further notice of the two editors, 
Gotzkowsky left the summer-house rapidly and ap- 
proached the listening multitude. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


57 


CHAPTEE VIII. 

THE LEADER OE THE PEOPLE. 

The inspired prophet stood on a bench, and, as he 
unrolled his pictures, he endeavored to explain these 
mystical paintings to his devout gazers and listeners 
in equally mystical language. Gotzkowsky hastened to- 
ward this group, and pressed in silent observation close 
up to Pfannenstieks side. 

The linen-weaver, wholly possessed by his prophetic 
god, had in the mean while unrolled another picture, 
and holding it up high with solemn countenance, ex- 
claimed with a screaming voice: “ The day of judgment 
is at hand, and destiny is at your door! In my dream 
I saw a face like unto no other face, and I heard a voice, 
and the voice was like unto no other voice! ” 

“And yet you heard it! What ears you must 
have! ” said Gotzkowsky, laughing. 

The prophet answered calmly, “Yes! for then were 
seen invisible things, and then were heard inaudible 
sounds! ” And showing a fresh picture to the crowd, 
he continued: “ Look at this picture, which I found 
this morning on my sheet. It contains the history of 
your future, and God announced it to me as I sat at my 
loom weaving. I heard a voice crying, ‘ Pfannenstiel, 
my beloved son, dost thou hear me ? 9 And I fell on my 
knees and answered, ‘Yes, I hear/ ‘Dost thou know 
what thou art weaving? ? asked the voice. ‘ Yes/ said 
I, ‘it is linen shirting for the almshouse/ ‘No/ said 
the voice, ‘ it is a cloth of weeping for the town of Ber- 
lin, for the daughters of your fathers will shed tears, 
and there will be moaning and weeping/ 99 


58 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


These last words he accompanied with a sobbing and 
plaintive howl, in which his trembling hearers joined. 
They assured each other in uncomfortable whispers that 
Pfannenstiehs prophecies usually came true, and that, 
even before the war, he had predicted the coming of this 
day of terror. 

But soon Pfannenstiel raised his voice, and its hoarse 
croaking sounded above the loud conversation and anx- 
ious cries of the multitude. “ Woe unto Berlin! ” cried 
he, with shrieking pathos. “ Blood will flow within her 
walls! The voice said unto me, ‘1 will look upon red, 
hut it will not be a scarlet cloak, and when the red ban- 
ner waves thrones will tremble, and there will be no end 
to the lamentation. And the cock will crow, and the 
heavens will shine blood-red, and everywhere and in all 
places men will cry, “ Blood! blood is the drink of new 
life; blood makes young what is old; blood wipes out 
sworn debts; blood makes the proud humble. Let us 
drink blood! ” ? ” 

Here the prophet was interrupted by the loud cries 
and wailing of the multitude. The women broke out in 
tears, sank on their knees and prayed, or clung trem- 
bling and weeping to their moody-looking husbands. 

Pfannenstiel looked with an air of proud triumph on 
this evident effect of his speech, and then continued in 
a more subdued tone: “ But the voice said to me, e Hope, 
and every thing will turn out well, and the blood which 
flows will transform itself into a purple robe, and men 
will call it freedom. Out of death will arise life.’ 
Therefore fall down on your knees, for the hour of judg- 
ment has come, and prayer alone, but not the sword, can 
save you/’ 

The multitude, carried away by the deception, were 
in the act of obeying this order, when Gotzkowsky, who 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


59 


could no longer restrain himself, stepped rapidly for- 
ward, his countenance radiant, and his eyes sparkling 
with anger. 

“ Listen not to this hypocritical set, this lying 
prophet, my people! ” cried he, with a voice of thunder. 
“ He will make cowards of you all, cowards who will sub- 
mit to the yoke, howling and whining. You would not 
have this ignominy put upon you. You will he men, 
who will defend their liberty with noble courage to the 
last drop of their blood, against the invading hordes of 
barbarians. For the barbarians are coming, and their 
fierce wrath threatens your wives and children. Will 
you submit to the Russians with a humble whine? ” 

“ No, no! ” cried the men, and many a clinched fist 
was raised, and many a wild but muttered oath was heard. 

At this moment there arose in the street a confused 
sound of screams and yells, then the hollow roll of the 
drum, and the deep clang of the alarm-bell, which sum- 
moned the citizens to the town-hall. 

The garden gates were now violently thrown open, 
and a band of stout workmen was seen hastening in wild 
disorder toward Gotzkowsky. 

These were the workmen from Gotzkowsky’s facto- 
ries, industrious men, who had preferred working in the 
factory, and not losing their time, to the enjoyment of 
the day’s festival, and to whom Gotzkowsky had ordered 
double wages to be paid, that they might not lose their 
share in the celebration of his daughter’s birthday. 

“ The Russians are at the gates! ” cried they. “ All 
the citizens are arming themselves. We have no arms. 
Give us arms, master! ” 

The cry was taken up by those who had just been 
listening to Pfannenstiel’s words. “ Yes, give us arms, 
give us arms. We are no cowards, we will fight! ” 


60 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Gotzkowsky’s flashing eye flew across the multitude, 
and he saw in the earnest countenances of the men that 
they were serious in their demand, and in their desire 
to fight. “ Well, then, if you will fight, you shall not 
want for weapons,” cried he, joyfully. “ I have, as you 
know, in my house, a collection of costly arms. Follow 
me, my children; we will go to the armory, and each 
one shall take what he likes best. On such a day as this, 
arms do not belong to any one in particular, hut are the 
property of him who can find and make use of them. 
That is the sacred right of manhood. The country is in 
danger! Come to my armory and arm yourselves! ” 

The men shouted for joy at Gotzkcwsky’s words, 
and pushed after him with wild impetuosity into the 
house, and the large hall, in which the costly weapons 
were tastefully grouped and ornamentally arranged 
against the walls. With eager haste the men possessed 
themselves of these arms, and Gotzkowsky saw with glad 
pride his rare Damascus blades, his delicately carved 
silver-mounted pistols, his daggers inlaid with gold, his 
costly ornamented sabres and guns in the hands of his 
warlike workmen. He then armed himself, and his 
men, always accustomed to look upon him cheerfully 
and willingly as their leader, fell into line behind him in 
a long military procession. 

“ Now, then, my children,” cried he, “ let us go to 
the town-hall and offer our services to the magistrates.” 

And at the head of his workmen he left the house. 
Soon deep silence reigned in these rooms, so lately filled 
with noise and tumult. The garden, too, had become 
deserted and empty. Pfannenstiel alone remained in 
his elevated position, gazing pensively, as in a dream, 
on his collection of pictures. 

After this silence had lasted some time, Krause and 


thI: merchant of Berlin. 


61 


Kretschmer crept, cautiously looking around them, out 
of the summer-house in which they had secreted them- 
selves up to this moment. Their countenances were 
pale and angry. 

“ Gotzkowsky is a puffed-up fool,” exclaimed Krause, 
with a dark frown. “ With his swaggering phrases he 
has seduced these workmen away from us, to rush into 
the fight like wounded wild hoars, and to bring the Rus- 
sians down upon us.” 

“ We must not give up all hope,” said Kretschmer; 
“ the people are timid and fickle, and whoever will give 
them the sweetest words wins them over to his side. 
Come, let us try our luck elsewhere. Every thing de- 
pends upon our being beforehand with this braggart 
Gotzkowsky, and getting first the ear of the people. 
You, Pfannenstiel, come with us, and get up your words 
strong and spirited, so that the stupid people may be- 
lieve you.” 

Pfannenstiel clapped up his picture-hook, and threw 
his cloak with majestic dignity over his lean shoulders. 
“ The people are like a flock of sheep,” said he; “ they 
want a leader, never mind who. Only the leader must 
he there at the right hour; and if God has bestowed 
upon him the gift of eloquence, he can lead them either 
into the church to contrite prayer, or to the slaughter- 
field to bloody combat. The people are a flock of sheep, 
nothing more! ” 

“ Come, then,” cried Kretschmer pathetically; 
<( come and he their bellwether, and lead the people into 
the church.” 


5 y 


62 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE RUSSIAN IS AT THE GATES. 

In a few minutes quiet, peaceful, industrious Berlin 
was transformed into an open encampment. From all 
the streets there poured throngs of armed men toward 
the town-hall, where the wise magistrates were consult- 
ing on the possibility of resistance, or toward the com- 
mander of Berlin, General Rochow, who had the streets 
patrolled, and called upon the citizens, by heat of drum, 
to assemble with arms, and assist in the defence of the 
town. 

“ The Russian is at the gates! ” This cry of terror 
seemed to cure the sick and feeble, and give courage 
and strength to the wavering. The old national hatred 
of the German toward the Russian broke out in its entire 
vigor; and vehemence made even the faint-hearted fly 
to arms, and caused words of imprecation to rise to the 
lips of those who were in the habit of uttering prayers 
and timid complaints. 

The council of war was assembled at the com- 
mander’s office, and, strange to say, it consisted of only 
old men and invalids. There were present the infirm 
veteran general and commander, Rochow, and the 
eighty-year-old Field-Marshal Lehwald, the severely- 
wounded General Seidlitz, and General Knoblauch, also 
wounded. These four composed the whole council, and 
fully aware of the danger and of the smallness of their 
forces, were debating whether they should yield to the 
demand of the Russian troops, and give up the town 
without any defence, or, with twelve hundred garrison 
troops, two rusty cannon, a few thousand wounded 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


63 


soldiers, and an inefficient body of citizens, give bat- 
tle to the twelve thousand irregular troops of General 
Tottleben, who would soon be reenforced by the army of 
General Tschernitscheff, twenty thousand strong, and 
fourteen thousand Austrians under Count Lacy, who, 
as they well knew, were coming on by forced marches. 
But so great was the heroic exasperation and eagerness 
for the fight of these noble and war-worn veterans, that 
not one of them advised submission; but, on the con- 
trary, they unanimously determined to defend Berlin 
as long as a drop of blood flowed in their veins. 
As these brave generals had no army to lead into 
the fight, they would defend the town, not as com- 
manders of high rank, but as fighting soldiers, and 
waiving their military rank and dignity to their noble 
love of country, like other soldiers, they would each one 
defend his intrenchment or redoubt. 

But while the military commanders were adopting 
these heroic resolutions, the Town Council was engaged 
in secret session at the town-hall. The wise fathers 
were staring at each other with terror in their counte- 
nances, and considering, in pusillanimous faint-hearted- 
ness, whether they would really assume the heavy re- 
sponsibility of engaging the peaceful citizens in a fight, 
which, after all, would be, in all probability, useless and 
without result. 

“ I vote for submission,” stammered out the chief 
burgomaster, Herr von Kircheisen, with heavy tongue, 
as he wiped off the big drops of sweat which stood upon 
his brow with his silk handkerchief. “ I vote for sub- 
mission. The honorable citizens of this town are not 
called on to spill their blood in useless fighting, nor to 
irritate the wrath of the enemy by resistance. And be- 
sides, the enemy will doubtless lay a war tax on us, and 


64 : 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


thi? will certainly be lighter if we submit at once than 
if we resist. Further, it is the sacred duty of a prudent 
magistrate to protect and preserve, to the best of his 
ability, the property of the citizens. It is therefore my 
opinion that, in order to save the hard-earned possessions 
of the poor citizens of Berlin, already sufficiently op- 
pressed, we submit at once to an overwhelming force.” 

By the brightening countenances of the worthy 
councilmen it could be plainly perceived that the elo- 
quence of the chief burgomaster had told powerfully 
upon them, and that the question of money which he 
had raised would prove a powerful and decisive argu- 
ment in favor of submission at this momentous period. 

The assistant burgomaster had already expressed his 
entire concurrence in the views of Herr von Kircheisen, 
and the first alderman was in the act of opening his 
mouth to do the same, when the patriotic deliberations 
of the worthy gentlemen were interrupted by shouts 
and cries from the street below, which drove them in ter- 
ror from their seats. They hastened to the windows, 
and, carefully concealed behind the curtains, ventured 
to peep down into the street. 

Down there they beheld a much more lively sight — 
men and youths, old men and boys streamed toward the 
town-hall, and, raising their eyes and arms to the win- 
dows, demanded from the city fathers, with genuine 
enthusiasm, weapons and ammunition. Perhaps, in- 
deed, it was only fear which had suddenly made these 
peaceful citizens of Berlin so bold and lion-hearted: 
one thing is certain, that is, that at this moment they 
were all animated by one sentiment, one impulse, and 
that their deadly hatred against Russian and Austrian 
rendered peaceable submission impossible. The tailor 
threw away his needle and grasped the sword, the shoe- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


65 


maker exchanged his awl for a dagger, and all these 
quiet, humble citizens had been transformed by hatred 
and fear, anger and terror, into most belligerent heroes. 

“ Give us arms! ” was the reiterated cry. 

An heroic tailor climbed up on the shoulders of a 
hunchback shoemaker, and sawing the air violently with 
his arms, cried out: “ The people of Berlin demand their 
rights; they will fight for their liberty. Give the people 
of Berlin their due. Give them arms — arms! ” 

“ Arms! ” roared the crowd. “ We will have arms! ” 

“ And what do you want with arms? ” cried sudden- 
ly a shrill, piercing voice. All eyes were turned toward 
the spot whence the voice proceeded, and there was seen 
the meagre figure of the linen-weaver, who had leaped 
upon a bench, and from his elevated position was look- 
ing down upon the people with the confident air of a 
conqueror. But Pfannenstiel observed, to his dismay, 
that this time his appearance did not produce the de- 
sired effect; on the contrary, angry looks were cast upon 
him, and occasionally a threatening fist was raised 
against the divinely-inspired prophet. 

“What do you want with arms?” cried he once 
more. “ Prayer is the only weapon becoming peaceful 
citizens.” 

A burst of scornful laughter was the answer. “ Down 
with the linen-weaver! Tear him to pieces!” roared 
the crowd, becoming infuriated. 

“ We mean to fight, and not to pray,” cried the valor- 
ous tailor. 

“ We want none of your poltroonery, you blackguard 
of a linen-weaver! ” 

“The tailor is right! Pfannenstiel is a false 
prophet! ” cried another voice. 

“ Hang him! ” 


66 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


“ He wants to make cowards of us! ” 

The crowd raged still more furiously, and pressed 
toward the spot where Pfannenstiel stood. Threatening 
hands were raised against him, and the situation of the 
prophet of peace began to be uncomfortable enough, 
when suddenly two new figures rose near him, and, by 
their unexpected appearance, restrained for a moment 
the wrath of the people. 


CHAPTER X. 

BE PRUDENT. 

These two men, who so unexpectedly appeared at 
the side of the prophetic weaver, were none else than the 
two editors, Kretschmer and Krause, who came to sup- 
port him in his exhortations in favor of peace, and to 
use their eloquence on the multitude assembled in front 
of the town-hall. 

Mr. Krause opened: “ Listen to me, good citizens of 
Berlin; look at my gray hairs. Age has the advantage, 
if not of wisdom, at least of experience. Listen to my 
advice. You who wish to fight for libert}^ he at least 
prudent and moderate.” 

“None of your moderation!” cried the tailor. 
“ We won’t be moderate! ” 

“ But you will be reasonable and prudent, won’t 
you?” cried Mr. Kretschmer, with his clear, penetrat- 
ing voice, raising himself on tiptoe, and casting his large, 
light-blue eyes over the crowd. “ You will he reason- 
able, certainly, and in reason you can tell me what you 
wish, and we can deliberate, and decide whether that 
which you wish is reasonable.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


67 


“ We want arms.” 

“ But why do you want arms? ” 

“ To fight the enemy,” cried the shoemaker, whom 
the crowd seemed tacitly to recognize as their mouth- 
piece. 

“ You really wish, then, to fight? ” asked Mr. 
Kretschmer. “ You wish to precipitate yourselves into 
a fight, with the certainty of being defeated. You wish 
to put yourselves in opposition to an enemy who out- 
numbers you ten times; who, with sneering pride, will 
drive your little band of warriors, with his cannon, to 
destruction! Consider what you are about to do! 
Twelve thousand Russians are now before your gates; 
their cannon pointed against your walls, your houses, 
your churches, and they are awaiting only an opportu- 
nity of springing upon you like a tiger on his prey. And 
what have we to oppose them? Our little garrison con- 
sists of invalids and wounded men; for our young men, 
able to fight, are all with the king on the bloody fields 
of Silesia, and only a small band of worthy citizens re- 
mains here. Can they fight against an overwhelming 
enemy, ten times their number? Can they wish to do 
it?” 

No one answered this question. The countenances 
became thoughtful, and the redness of anger grew paler 
on their cheeks. 

“ Yes,” cried one of the people, “ we are very weak.” 

“ We cannot think of gaining a victory,” grumbled 
out another. 

Mr. Kretschmer perceived, by the darkening faces 
and downcast look of his audience, that the prudence 
he was preaching had already commenced to press the 
courage of the poor people into the background, and 
raising his voice still higher he continued: 


68 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


“Your fighting will be a species of suicide. Your 
wives and children will curse you for having killed 
their husbands and fathers. Worthy citizens! be pru- 
dent, and remember that work and not war is your 
calling. Go home, then, and mind your business; 
take care of your wives and children, and bow your 
heads in humbleness, for necessity will teach you pru- 
dence.” 

Mr. Kretschmer stopped, and the silent assembly 
seemed to be considering whether they should listen to 
his prudent advice. Even the heroic tailor had climbed 
down from the hump of the shoemaker, and remained 
thoughtful and silent. 

“ The man is right,” cried the shoemaker, in his 
grumbling, bass voice. 

“ Yes, indeed,” said his gossip, the glover; “ why 
should we sacrifice our legs and arms? We can’t beat 
them anyhow.” 

“Mow, my friends,” whispered Kretschmer to his 
associates, “now is your turn to speak. My breath is 
exhausted. You speak now and finish the good work I 
commenced. Admonish the people to be moderate.” 

“I will make them perfectly enthusiastic in the 
cause of peace and quiet,” said Mr. Krause, in a low 
voice. “ You shall see how irresistible the stream of my 
eloquence will be,” and striding forward with pathetic 
mien, and raising both arms as if to implore the people, 
he exclaimed in a loud voice: “ You say so, and it is so! 
We cannot be victorious. Now, my opinion is, that as 
we cannot beat the enemy, we ought not to fight him, 
and in that way we can cheat him out of his victory. 
For where there is no fight, there can be no victory. 
Resist the armed bands with the quiet obstacle of mental 
fortitude. Do not act, but submit. Submit with a de- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


69 


fiant air. Do not use your weapons, but do not yield 
them up to the enemy. Keep your hands on the hilts 
of your swords, and be quiet. When they mock and 
abuse you, be silent; but let them read your defiance 
in your countenances; when they press upon you with 
sword and cannon, retire with a proud smile, and do not 
defend yourselves, and we will see whether they are 
brutal enough to attack peaceful non-combatants. Act 
in this way, and the moral victory is yours, and you then 
will have conquered the enemy by your moral greatness, 
even if you are physically subdued. Against cannon 
and bayonets a people cannot defend themselves except 
by passive resistance, by submission, with secret and si- 
lent hatred in their hearts. Use no other weapons than 
this passive resistance, and posterity will praise you, 
and say of you, with admiration, that you were no heroes 
of fight, but heroes of passive resistance. Your country 
will be proud of you! ” 

Mr. Krause paused, and leaned, worn out, on the 
shoulder of the prophetic linen-weaver. 

“ You may be in the right,” said the tailor, still re- 
bellious at heart; “ all that sounds right and reasonable, 
but still it don’t suit me, and I don’t see how the country 
can be proud of us, if we behave like cowards, and let 
ourselves be bamboozled this way.” 

“ Do you hush, tailor! ” cried the hunchbacked shoe- 
maker. u The chap thinks because he can manage a 
sharp needle, he must be able to yield a broadsword; but 
let me tell you, my brave boy, that a stick with a sword 
hurts worse than a prick with a needle. It is not only 
written, ‘ Shoemaker, stick to your last,’ but also, ‘ Tai- 
lor, stick to your needle.’ Are we soldiers, that we must 
fight? No, we are respectable citizens, tailors and shoe- 
makers, and the whole concern is no business of ours. 


70 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


And who is going to pay us for our legs and arms when 
they have been cut off? ” 

“ Nobody, nobody is going to do it! ” cried a voice 
from the crowd. 

“ And who is going to take care of our wives and 
children when we are crippled, and can’t earn bread for 
them? Perhaps they are going to put us in the new 
almshouse, which has just been built outside of the 
King’s Gate, and which they call the Oxen-head.” 

“ No, no, we won’t go into the Oxen-head! ” screamed 
the people. “ We won’t fight! let us go home.” 

“ Yes, go home, go home! ” cried Krause and 
Kretschmer, delighted, and Pfannenstiel repeated after 
them — 

“ Let us go home! ” 

And indeed the groups began to separate and thin 
out; and the two editors, who had descended from their 
bench, mixed with the crowd, and enforced their peace- 
ful arguments with zealous eloquence. 

But it seemed as if Fortune did not favor them, for 
now down the neighboring street came Gotzkowsky with 
his band of armed workmen. He drew them up in front 
of the town-hall. The sight of this bold company of 
daring men, with determined countenances and flashing 
eyes, exercised a magical influence on the people; and 
when Gotzkowsky addressed them, and with overpower- 
ing eloquence and burning words implored them to re- 
sist, when with noble enthusiasm he summoned them 
to do their duty, and to remember their honors as men, 
the versatile crowd began again to cry out — “ Arms, 
arms! give us arms! ” 

But the humpbacked shoemaker still remained cowed 
and timid, and the threatenings of the preachers of peace 
still sounded in his ears. He threw up his arms and 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


71 


cried out: “ Children, remember what the gentlemen 
told us. Have nothing to do with fighting. Be wise 
and prudent! ” 

“ Tii e devil take your prudence! ” cried Gotzkowsky. 
In an hour like this we have no need of prudence^ 
we want courage! Won’t you fight?” 

“No, we won’t!” cried the shoemaker, resolutely. 
“We want to keep our arms and legs.” 

“We don’t want to go to the Oxen-head! ” exclaimed 
another. 

Gotzkowsky broke out impetuously: “ Are you men, 
who dare to talk in this way? You are afraid of losing 
your limbs, and you are not afraid of losing, by your 
cowardice, your most valuable possessions, your liberty 
and your honor. Even if you do crawl through our 
streets as cripples, your wives and children will point to 
you with pride, and men will whisper to each other, ‘ He 
too was one of the heroes who fought for liberty, one of 
the brave men who, when Berlin was besieged, met the 
enemy, and fought bravely for our rights.’ ” 

“ That’s fine,” cried the tailor, carried away by Gotz- 
kowsky’s fiery words. “Yes, let us be heroes, let us 
fight! ” 

At the windows of the town-hall above, hid behind 
the curtains, the wise members of the city Council still 
stood and listened with anxious hearts to what was go- 
ing on below. The countenance of the chief burgo- 
master became ashy pale, and drops of cold sweat stood 
on his brow. “ This Gotzkowsky will ruin us all,” 
sighed he heavily. “ He does not think what he is do- 
ing. His foolhardiness will compel us all to be brave. 
But we will have to pay for our liberty, not only with our 
blood, but with our fortunes. And this man, who cal- 
culates so badly, pretends to be a merchant! But we 


72 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


must yield to this rash mob, for to oppose an excited 
people might bring even the honorable Council into 
danger. Good Heavens!” cried he, interrupting him- 
self, “ what is this again? ” 

To the sound of martial music, there was seen com- 
ing down the street a hand of scar-covered veterans, the 
invalids of the first years of the war. Some limped, 
others carried their arms in slings, others again had 
their heads hound up; but one could perceive, by their 
serious, determined faces, that they were animated by a 
high and cheerful courage, which placed them above 
physical suffering. In their midst, on a litter, was borne 
the brave General von Seidlitz, whose wounds, received 
in the battle of Kunersdorf, had not yet healed; hut the 
danger which threatened Berlin had roused him from a 
bed of suffering, and, as he could not walk, he had him- 
self carried to the battery at the Kottbuss Gate, the de- 
fence of which he had undertaken. 

As the hero turned to the people with a friendly 
greeting, and exhorted them to courage, with short and 
appropriate words, there sounded from a thousand voices 
an enthusiastic “ Hurrah! ” The people waved their 
hats, and cried loudly and tumultuously up at the win- 
dows of the Council, “ Give us arms — arms! ” 

At the window above stood the chief burgomaster, 
with trembling limbs and livid face. “ It is decided,” 
said he, softly; “ the people of Berlin are determined 
to die as heroes, or purchase their liberty with all the 
wealth of the town,” and, with a weak cry of grief, he 
sank fainting into the arms of the head alderman. 

The assistant burgomaster opened the window and 
cried out: “You shall have arms. We will defend 
Berlin with our last breath, and to the last drop of our 
blood! ” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


73 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE NIGHT OF HORRORS. 

Thus, once more, had the impetuous boldness of the 
patriots carried the day against braggart cowardice. 
The Council, yielding to necessity, had resolved to he 
brave. The chief burgomaster, who had revived, donned 
his robe of office, adorned himself with his golden chain, 
and followed by the councillors, proceeded to Command- 
er Rochow, to ask for arms for the citizens of Berlin. 
This petition was readily granted; the armory was 
thrown open, and there were seen, not only men and 
youths, old men and hoys, hut even women and girls, 
arming themselves for the sacred fight for fatherland 
and freedom. As if on a pilgrimage, the people proceed- 
ed to the armory in a long, solemn procession, silent and 
devout, a noble determination, a brave and cheerful but 
subdued expression observable in every face. No loud 
cries, not a rude word, nor boisterous laughter was heard 
from this crowd. Each one spoke in low and earnest 
tones to his neighbor; every one was conscious of the 
deep significance of the hour, and feared to interrupt 
the religious service of the country by a word spoken too 
loud. In silent devotion they crossed the threshold of 
the armory, with light and measured steps the crowd 
circulated through the rooms, and with solemn calmness 
and a silent prayer in their hearts, the people received 
from the hands of the veteran soldiers the weapons for 
the defence of their country. And the flags which hung 
around on the walls as shining mementoes of former 
victories, seemed to greet the people as patriots who 
were arming themselves for the holy fight against the 
enemy of their country, the destroyer of liberty. 


74 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


For it was no longer a fight for Silesia, a strip of 
territory, which was to be fought, but a struggle be- 
tween intellect and brute power, between civilization and 
barbarism, the inevitable companion of the Russian 
hordes. Prussia represented Germany, and on her wav- 
ing banner she bore the civilization, refinement, science, 
and poetry of Germany. Her opponent was no longer 
the German brother, sprung from the same stock; it 
was the Austrian, who had called in the assistance of 
foreign barbarians, and who was fighting the Germans, 
the Prussians, with the help of the Russians. For that 
reason, the hatred against the Austrian' was among the 
Prussian troops much more bitter and bloody than the 
hatred and abhorrence of the Russians, the sworn enemy 
of the German; and when, therefore, the Berlin citizens 
learned that the Austrians, too, were approaching under 
Count Lacy, this news was considered by these soldier- 
citizens as a consecration of their arms. 

“ Better be buried under the w^alls of Berlin than 
yield to the Austrian! ” was the war-cry of the people, 
who flocked in constantly renewed streams to the armory 
for weapons, the watchword of the brave militia who 
hastened to all the gates to defend them against the 
enemy. 

But all the streets did not offer so lively or proud an 
appearance. Whilst the citizens and the warriors scarce- 
ly recovered from their wounds, whilst the people were 
arming themselves to defend wife and child, and the 
sacred liberty of fatherland; whilst these brave troops 
were hurrying toward the Dresden and Kottbuss Gates 
to meet the Russians, others were seen hastening down 
the Linden and Frederick Streets. But these crowds 
were unarmed, though not empty-handed; their faces 
were pale, and their eyes were gloomy and dull. These 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


75 


were the faint-hearted and irresolute, who, in fear and 
trembling, were turning their backs on a town in which 
was to be fought the fight for the noblest possessions of 
mankind. This was the crowd of boasting, versatile 
flatterers and parasites, who worshipped no other God 
but fortune, and possessed no other faith than that of 
property and personal safety. Berlin might be reduced 
to ashes, barbarism and slavery might conquer, a foreign 
ruler might erect his throne in the midst of the down- 
fallen city, what did they care, provided their own lives 
and money were safe? 

At this time they were hurrying along, pale with 
fright, death and terror in their distracted countenances. 
Women of the highest nobility, whose silken-shod feet 
had never before trod the rough pavement, fled with 
hasty steps down the street; shoulders which had never 
borne the least burden of life or sorrow, were now laden 
with treasures, and gold was the parent whom these 
modern ^Eneases sought to save from the ruins of the 
threatened town. All ranks and conditions were con- 
founded; no longer servant and master, fear had made 
brothers of them all. Countesses were seen smiling on 
their valets, in order to obtain the assistance of their 
arm to a more rapid flight; high-born gentlemen were 
seen laden down, like the meanest of their servants, with 
gold and silver ware, which they were seeking to save 
from the beleaguered city. 

What did these people care whether Berlin fell, and 
was taken or not? What did they care if the throne of 
the house of Hohenzollern was overthrown? They had 
hut one thought, one object — safety in flight. So they 
hurried down the street, moaning and wailing, breath- 
less and trembling in every limb, toward the town gates. 
They reached the goal; they stood before the gates he- 


76 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


yond which were escape and safety. But these gates 
were closed, and the soldiers who guarded them declared 
that none should pass them, that the men must stay to 
defend the town, the women to nurse the wounded and 
dying. All begging and pleading were in vain; in vain 
did the Jew Ephraim, who had become a millionnaire 
by the farming of the mint, offer the sentinel thousands 
to open the gates; in vain did the gentlemen, once so 
proud, entreat; in vain did the beautiful countesses 
wring their white hands before the poor despised work- 
man who now stood as sentinel at the gates. In this mo- 
ment this poor man was richer than the Hebrew mint- 
farmer Ephriam, for he was rich in courage; mightier 
than the proudest countess, for to his hands were in- 
trusted the keys of a town; and the town gates were not 
opened to these hands of cowards. They were con- 
demned to remain, condemned to the torture of trem- 
bling fear, cowardly, inactive supplication. 

Howling and whining, they fled back again into the 
town, in order at least to bury their treasures, and hold 
themselves in readiness to meet the victor, whoever he 
might be, with flags of peace and hymns of welcome. 

But before they had reached their houses, bombs had 
commenced to fly into the town, and here and there 
mortar-shells were heard whizzing through the air; with 
the cries of the flying and the wounded, and the screams 
of the dying, was now heard the moaning toll of the 
alarm-bell, telling that to the terrors of the siege were 
added those of the elements. Like gigantic torches of 
a funeral procession shone the flames of the burning 
houses, and covered the heavens with crimson as deep 
as the blood of those wounded unto death. At last 
night set in, but brought no rest for the sick, no refresh- 
ment for the weary. The fire-balls and bomb-shells still 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


77 


flew into the town, the alarm-bells still continued their 
mournful toll, the burning houses still flamed up to the 
sky; but yet the courage of the besieged did not sink. 
They still held their ground intrepidly, and they still 
hade an heroic defiance to the attacks of the enemy. In 
vain did the Russians attempt to storm the gates, the 
brave defenders drove them back again and again. Sud- 
denly the cannon ceased firing, and the enemy drew 
back. 

“ What is the meaning of this? ” asked the com- 
batants at the gates. 

“ The meaning is,” said Gotzkowsky, who had just 
arrived from another part of the town with a squad 
of his workmen — “ the meaning is that help is approach- 
ing. It means that God is on our side, and succors our 
noble and righteous cause. The Prince of Wurtemberg 
has just arrived from Pasewalk with his division, and 
General Huelsen is hastening hither as rapidly as pos- 
sible from Koswig.” 

The brave warriors received this news with a loud 
hurrah, and embraced each other with tears in their eyes 
and thanksgiving in their hearts. 

“We are saved! ” cried they to each other; “Berlin 
will not be surrendered, Berlin will be victorious, for 
help has arrived.” And then they sank down on the 
pavement, to rest for an hour on this hard bed, after the 
fatigue of the fierce combat. 

But Gotzkowsky could not rest. For him there was 
no leisure, no sleep; neither was there any fear or dan- 
ger for him. As he had left his house, his daughter, 
and his riches unguarded, with the same unconcern did 
he move among the rain of balls and the bursting of 
shells. He did not think of death nor of danger! He 
only thought of his country, and one great, lofty idea — 
6 


78 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


the idea of liberty— burned in his heart and animated 
his whole being. The Council, knowing his influence 
over the citizens, had, therefore, as soon as the Prince of 
Wurtemberg had arrived with his regiment in Berlin, 
communicated this intelligence to the brave patriot, and 
commissioned him to acquaint his men with the fact. 
With glistening eye and beaming countenance did he 
announce this significant intelligence to his brave war- 
riors, reviving their courage, and redoubling their 
strength as they drove the enemy back from the gates 
and silenced his cannon. 

But yet in his soul Gotzkowsky was sad and full of 
care. He had seen the regiments of the Prince of Wur- 
temberg as they marched in, and he had read in the 
dull countenances of the soldiers, staggering and sink- 
ing from fatigue, that they were not able, nor even in a 
condition, to hold a sword. But yet his heart did not 
fail him. The elasticity of his courage seemed only to 
increase with the danger. Perhaps a short rest, 
strengthening food, refreshing wine, might restore to 
these men their lost strength. 

And now for the first time since the attack of the 
enemy did Gotzkowsky turn toward his home; but not 
to visit his daughter, not to inquire after his property, 
but to open his wine-cellars, and to let his cashier fill 
his pockets with gold. 

He then returned rapidly down the street directly 
to the town-hall, where the Council were in session, and 
had invited the most venerable citizens to consult with 
them. 

Appearing before this august body, Gotzkowsky 
painted, with glowing eloquence and impressive words, 
the destitute condition of the regiments which had en- 
tered the town. He demanded for them nourishment 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


79 


and support; he entreated the Council to give these 
weary troops shelter and rest. 

“ First let them eat and sleep,” said he, “ and then 
they will fight for us and conquer. We cannot expect 
courage from a tired and starved man.” 

From the Council he hastened to the rich merchants 
and factory lords. The rich man went begging for his 
hungry brethren, and his pride did not feel itself low- 
ered by the petition. No one could resist his impetuous 
eagerness; every one was carried away by his unselfish 
and impulsive magnanimity. For the moment, even 
earthly treasures lost their value, for more valuable 
possessions were at stake, namely, liberty and honor. 
Every one gave cheerfully and most liberally. 

And now it was a glorious sight to see how, in a few 
hours, the whole city changed its appearance. As the 
night before had been full of horrors and dread events, 
the next morning and day were like a festival, the prepa- 
ration to a great and solemn feast. Forty of the largest 
and fattest oxen were slaughtered, to afford a strengthen- 
ing meal to those so much in need of nourishment. 
About mid-day, a strange procession moved down the 
Konig’s Street and across the Palace Square. And what 
was the meaning of it? It was not a funeral, for there 
were no mourning-wreaths and no hearse; it was not a 
bridal procession, for the bridal paraphernalia and joy- 
ous music were wanting. Nor did it wend its way to- 
ward the church nor the churchyard, but toward the new 
and handsome opera-house, recently erected by the king, * 
whose gates were opened wide to receive it. It looked 
like a feast of Bacchus at one time, from the enormous 
tuns driven along; at another time like a festival of 
Ceres, as in solemn ranks came the bakers bringing thou- 
sands of loaves in large wagons. Then followed the 


80 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


white-capped cooks, bringing the smoking beef in large 
caldrons. The rear was finally brought up by the but- 
lers, with large baskets of wine. 

And the beautiful and resplendent temple of art was 
thrown open to the reception of all these things, al- 
though they only served for material nourishment, and 
in the magnificent hall in which formerly Frederick the 
Great, with his generals and chosen friends, listened to 
the magic strains of Gluck, there sounded now a wild 
confusion of discordant cries. The butlers stood by the 
wine-casks, filling the bottles which were carried out by 
the nimble and active vivandieres, and on the same stage 
on which once Galiari and Barharini, Ostroa and Sam- 
heni enchanted the public with their marvellous sing- 
ing, were seen now large caldrons of beef; and, instead 
of the singers, the performance was conducted by cooks, 
who drew the meat out of the pots, and arranged it neat- 
ly on enormous dishes. Gotzkowsky had attained his 
object, and Berlin fed this day the exhausted and hungry 
troops of the Prince of Wurtemberg. The merchant 
of Berlin had given his choicest and best wines to the 
banquet of patriotism. 


CHAPTER XII. 

RUSSIAN'S AND AUSTRIANS. 

After so many horrors and so many hours of anx- 
iety, at last, on the evening of the second day of the siege, 
a momentary suspension of hostilities occurred. Berlin 
rested after the excitement and turmoil, and even the 
besiegers seemed to be reposing. Shells and fire-balls 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


81 


no longer hissed through the groaning air, and the thun- 
der of the cannon had died away. Peace — the peace 
arising from disabling exhaustion on the part of the 
combatants, reigned for a short while, and the belliger- 
ents rested for a few hours to invigorate themselves for 
a renewal of the fight. The streets of Berlin, lit by the 
dull lamplight, were forsaken and empty, and only oc- 
casionally from the dark houses was heard wailing and 
moaning, either the death-struggle of a wounded man 
or the lamentations of his mourning friends. This 
death-like silence prevailed for several hours, when it 
was broken by a peculiar noise, sounding like the dull, 
muffled beat of drums, followed by the measured tread 
of marching troops. The sound approached nearer and 
nearer, and by the dim light of the street lamps one 
could distinctly recognize a column of men marching in 
close order from the opera-house down the Linden 
Street. 

It consisted of more than six thousand men, moving 
down the “ Linden ” in deep silence, unbroken even by 
a word of command. To see this dark and silent column 
passing along the gloomy and deserted street, was cal- 
culated to produce a feeling of awe in the spectator; 
Any one inclined to be superstitious might have im- 
agined this warlike force, marching through the streets 
at the hour of midnight, noiseless and silent as the grave, 
to be, not living soldiers, but the large and daily in- 
creasing cohort of spirits of those fallen in battle, tak- 
ing its way through the dying town, as birds of prey 
fly with prophetic wing in circles round the fields of 
death. 

And now the head of the column reaches the Bran- 
denburg Gate. The sentinel stands to arms and chal- 
lenges. The leader steps up to the officer of the guard 


82 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


and whispers a few words in his ear. This officer hows 
deeply and respectfully, and gives his sentinel a short 
order in an under-tone. He then steps back to his com- 
mand and presents arms. The leaves of the gate then 
turned creaking on their hinges, and in solemn silence 
the column marched out. This long, dark procession 
lasted nearly an hour; the gate then closed, and the 
same quiet resumed its sway in the streets. 

Berlin was dreaming or sleeping, praying or weep- 
ing, hut knew not that in this hour fresh misfortune had 
fallen upon it; knew not that the Prince of Wurtemberg 
had just left the town, and retired upon Spandau with 
his regiments, feeling himself too weak to resist an ene- 
my three times his number. And furthermore, it was 
not aware that the Austrian Count Lacy, who had al- 
ready occupied Potsdam and Charlottenhurg, with his 
division of ten thousand men, would in a few hours he 
at the gates of Berlin. 

In serious consultation, in anxious and wavering ex- 
pectation, the city fathers were assembled in the town- 
hall, which they had not quitted for two days. But, at 
this moment, a pause seemed to have occurred in their 
deliberations, for both the chief burgomaster, Von Kir- 
cheisen, and the aldermen were leaning back in their 
high, carved chairs, in sleepy repose, contemplating the 
wax-lights in their silver candelabras, which shed a dim 
and uncertain light into the more distant parts of the 
, hall. One or the other occasionally threw an inquiring 
glance toward the door, and leaned forward as if to lis- 
ten. After a while, steps were heard in the antechamber, 
and the countenances of the honorable members of the 
Council lighted up. 

“ At last he comes,” said the chief burgomaster, rais- 
ing himself w.ith an effort in his chair, and arranging 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


83 

the chain on his breast, which had got a little out of 
order. 

The door now opened, and the merchant Gotzkowsky 
entered. 

He approached the assembly with a firm and hurried 
step. The light of the candles shone upon his counte- 
nance, and in his pale, worn features you could read the 
traces of the hardships, the efforts and dangers he had 
undergone during the last two unfortunate days; only 
his eye still shone with its mild and yet fiery glance, and 
in his breast there beat still a brave and cheerful heart. 

“ Ye have called me, honorable gentlemen, and, as ye 
see, I have not delayed in answering your call.” 

" Yes, we have summoned you,” answered the chief 
burgomaster. " The Council desire your advice.” 

A slight, mocking smile played about Gotzkowsky’s 
lips. " It is not the first time,” he said, " that the Coun- 
cil have done me this honor.” 

Herr von Kircheisen plucked uneasily at his golden 
chain, and frowned. Gotzkowsky’s answer had wound- 
ed his pride. " Yes, you gave us your advice yesterday, 
and it was only by your urgent appeal that we were in- 
duced to feed and lodge the Prince of Wurtemberg’s 
troops. We might have spared ourselves the trouble, 
and our forty oxen remained unslaughtered.” 

" The Prince of Wurtemberg has left us, I know,” 
said Gotzkowsky, sorrowfully, " and we are thrown again 
on our own resources. Oh, I could weep over it! Two 
days and nights have the citizens of Berlin fought with 
the courage of a lioness defending her young, and all in 
vain. So much noble blood shed in vain! ” 

"We must surrender, then? ” said Kircheisen, turn- 
ing pale. 

"Unless the honorable Council can sow dragons’ 


84 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN; 


teeth and reap armed men, unless we can mould cannon 
and create gunners to serve them, we must, indeed, sur- 
render! ” said Gotzkowsky, in a sad tone. “ Yes, if we 
had a dozen cannon like the two at the Kottbuss Gate 
served by the brave artillerist, Fritze, there might he 
some hope for us. Those were beautiful shots. Like 
the sickle of death did they mow down the ranks of the 
enemy, and whole rows fell at once. Fritze is a hero, 
and has built himself a monument with the dead bodies 
of the Russians — and all this for nothing! ” 

“ For nothing! do you say? ” sighed the chief burgo- 
master. “ On the contrary, I rather think it will cost us 
a mint of money. The Austrians have sent Prince Low* 
enstein in with a flag of truce, to demand the surrender 
of the town. The Russians have also sent in a flag of 
truce with the same demand. Now comes the important 
question, To which of these two powers shall we sur- 
render? Which will give us the best bargain? ” and as 
the burgomaster stammered out this question, he seized 
a large goblet of wine which stood before him and 
emptied it at a draught. He then ordered the servant, 
who stood at the door, to replenish it with Johannis- 
berger. 

The aldermen and senators looked significantly at 
each other, and the second burgomaster ventured timidr 
ly to suggest that the heavy wine might possibly be in- 
jurious to the health of his honor the chief burgov 
master. 

“ Wine makes a man brave,” he drawled out, “ and as 
long as the city fathers have good wine in their cellars, 
the citizens of Berlin may sleep in peace, for so long 
will the Council have the courage to brave the enemy! 
Let me have wine, then, and be brave! ” and again he 
emptied the replenished goblet. He then stared com- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


85 


placently at the ceiling, and seemed lost in contempla- 
tion of the laurel-wreath painted above. 

The second burgomaster then rose gently from his 
seat, and taking Gotzkowsky’s arm, led him with the 
two principal councillors to one of the more remote 
window-seats. With a slight motion of the hand and a 
compassionate shrug of the shoulders, he pointed across 
to Herr von Kircheisen. 

“ poor oppressed chief wishes to acquire pot- 
valor,” said he, “and to stimulate himself into a de- 
lirium of firmness; hut I am afraid that the delirium 
tremens of fear is the only kind that he will experience. 
The poor man is very much to be pitied. It is just at 
such a time, when presence of mind is most requisite, 
that the good burgomaster regularly loses his head, and 
his brain rushes off with him like a mad horse to death 
and destruction.” 

“ And such a man is the chief magistrate of the town 
of Berlin,” said Gotzkowsky, mournfully. 

“ The citizens chose him, and the king confirmed 
their choice,” said the burgomaster; “ so we ought to 
be satisfied. But now let us come to the subject which 
induced us to disturb your slumbers, my friend. We 
need your counsel. The Russians and Austrians both 
summon us to surrender, and the Council of Berlin wish 
your advice, Gotzkowsky, as to which of these two ene : 
mies they shall yield.” 

“ That is, by Heavens! a choice that the devil himself 
must envy us,” cried Gotzkowsky, with a sad smile. 
“ To which party shall we surrender? To the Austrian, 
who wears the imperial German crown, and yet is the 
enemy of Germany! or to the Russian, the northern bar- 
barian, whose delight it is to trample every human right 
in the dust! Let me consider a little while, for it is a sad 


86 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


and painful choice.” And Gotzkowsky strode up and 
down, absorbed in the deepest reflection. Then turning 
to the gentlemen, after a long pause, he asked, “ To whom 
shall we yield? If my brother were among my enemies, 
I would fear him above all others; for a brother’s hatred 
is most unnatural, and, for that very reason, the most 
violent. The Austrian is the German brother of the 
Prussian, and yet they are striving for the right of the 
first-born, instead of confederating for the general good 
in unity, in equal authority, equal power, and equal de- 
termination. On the contrary, Austria allies herself to 
Russia, the sworn enemy of Germany, and with the as- 
sistance of this enemy fights against her German broth- 
ers. Therefore, my opinion is that, if we really must 
surrender, and if the Prussian really must yield, let it 
not he to Austria. Subjection to an equal is doubly 
humiliating. It is less painful to suffer death at the 
hand of a barbarian than to be butchered by a brother. 
I would, then, in this instance, give the preference to 
Russia.” 

“ That is also my opinion,” said the burgomaster, 
and the councillors agreed with him. They returned to 
the table, at which the chief burgomaster still sat, gaz- 
ing stupidly at the wine-cup. 

“ Gotzkowsky is of our opinion,” said the second 
burgomaster, turning toward him; it would he best to 
yield to the Russian.” 

“ The Russian is a capital fellow! ” stammered the 
chief burgomaster. “ The Russian has a great deal of 
money, and spends it freely. I esteem the Russian as- 
tonishingly; and my decided opinion is, that we sur- 
render to the Russian.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


87 


CHAPTER XIII. 
a maiden’s heart. 

Elise had passed the last two days and nights in her 
room; nevertheless she had felt no fear; the thunder of 
the cannon and the wail of the wounded had inspired her 
with mournful resignation rather than with fear. As, 
at one time, she stood at the window, a shell burst near 
the house, and shattered the window-panes of the ground 
floor. 

“ Oh, if this ball had only struck me,” cried she, 
while her cheeks burned, “ then all this suffering would 
have been at an end, this doubt would have been cleared 
up : and if my father ever again gave himself the trouble 
to visit his house, and ask after his daughter, my death 
would be the proper rebuke to his question. Her fa- 
ther’s long absence and apparent indifference tormented 
her and converted her grief into anger. 

During these days of danger and mortal peril he had 
never once entered his house to visit his daughter. With 
the unmitigated egotism of her sex, she could not com- 
prehend the greatness, the noble self-denial, the manly 
firmness which dictated his conduct; she could see in it 
nothing but indifference and cold-heartedness. 

“ The most insignificant and unpolished workman is 
dearer to him than his own child,” said she, proudly, 
drying her tears. “ He is now, perhaps, watching in the 
cabins of his laborers, and does not care if his own house 
is burned to the ground; hut even if he were told that 
it was so, if he heard that his daughter had perished in 
the flames, he would calmly say, ‘ My country demands 
this sacrifice of me, and I submit.’ Ho tear would dim 


88 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


his eye; his country would not leave him time to mourn 
for his daughter. Oh, this country! what is it? My 
country is where I am happy, and where I am beloved! ” 
She sighed deeply, and her thoughts wandered to her 
lover, her Feodor, the enemy of her country, in whose 
heart she thought she would find her real country, her 
true home. 

The spoiled child of fortune, always accustomed to 
see every wish fulfilled, Elise had not learned the power 
of self-control, nor to bend her will to any higher power. 
Fortune seemed anxious to spare yet awhile this warm, 
loving heart, and to allow her a little longer the free- 
dom of happy ignorance, before it initiated her into the 
painful and tearful mysteries of actual life. Besides 
this, Elise had inherited from her father a strong will 
and dauntless courage, and behind her bright, dreamy 
eyes dwelt a proud and spirited soul. Like her father, 
her whole soul yearned for freedom and independence; 
but the difference between them was, that while she 
only understood freedom as applying to herself person- 
ally, Gotzkowsky’s more capacious mind comprehended 
it in its larger and more general sense. She wished for 
freedom only for herself; he desired it for his country, 
and he would willingly have allowed his own person to 
be cast into bonds and fetters, if he could thereby have 
secured the liberties of the people. Out of this simi- 
larity, as well as from this difference of character, arose 
all the discord which occasionally threatened to disturb 
the harmony of these two hearts. 

Gotzkowsky could not understand the heart of the 
young maiden, nor Elise that of the noble patriot. To 
these two strong and independent natures there had 
been wanting the gentle, soothing influence of a mother’s 
love, acting conciliatingly on both. Elise’s mother had 


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89 


died while she was young, and the child was left to the 
care of strangers. Her father could seldom find time to 
he with his daughter; but, though seldom personally 
present, yet his whole soul was faithfully, unalterably 
devoted to her. Elise did not suspect this, and in conse- 
quence of seldom seeing or meeting him, and the want 
of mutual intercourse, the heart of his daughter became 
estranged from him, and in the soul of this young girl, 
just budding into life, brought up without companions, 
in the midst of wealth and plenty, arose at first the 
doubt, and later the conviction, of the indifference of her 
father toward his only child. But proud as she was, 
and full of a feeling of independence, she never met 
him with a reproach or complaint, but withdrew into 
herself, and as she believed herself repelled, strove also, 
on her part, to emancipate herself. 

“ Love cannot be forced, nor can it be had for the 
asking,” said she, as, yielding sometimes to a natural 
childish feeling, she felt an irresistible longing to go to 
her father, whom she had not seen the livelong day; to 
hunt him up in the midst of his work, to lay herself 
gently on his breast, and say to him: “ Love me, father, 
for without love we are both so lonely! ” Once she had 
yielded to the impulse of her heart, and had gone down 
to his work-room, to take refuge with all her love and all 
her desire in her father’s heart. It was on the very day 
that Gotzkowsky had returned from a most important 
journey. He had been absent for weeks from his daugh- 
ter, and yet his first visit had not been to her, but to the 
work-room, which he had not left since his arrival. But 
Elise did not know that he had travelled with relays of 
horses, and that, in spite of the intensely bitter weather, 
he had driven day and night, allowing himself no rest 
nor refreshment, in order to reach home as rapidly as 


90 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


possible, solely from desire to see his daughter, whose 
fair and lovely countenance was the star which lighted 
his dreary, lonesome hours of toil, and inspired him with 
courage and cheerfulness. Nor could she know that he 
had only undertaken this journey because, by the failure 
of one of the largest mercantile firms in the Netherlands, 
his own house had been put in danger, and he had been 
threatened with the loss of his hard-earned wealth. 

With palpitating heart, and tears of love in her eyes, 
she entered his room. Her whole bearing was sublime, 
full of tenderness and warmth, full of the humble love 
of a child. But Gotzkowsky scarcely raised his eyes 
from his books and papers, did not advance to meet her, 
did not leave the circle of his officials and servants, did 
not even break off the conversation he was engaged in 
with the directors of his silk-factory. And yet Elise 
drew nearer to him, her heart yearned so to bid him wel- 
come. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and whispered 
an affectionate greeting in his ear. Gotzkowsky only 
looked at her hastily, and replied almost impatiently, “ I 
pray you, my child, do not disturb me; we are busy with 
very important matters.” 

It certainly was business of great importance, which 
monopolized Gotzkowsky’s attention immediately on his 
return. It was a question of nearly half a million, 
which he would probably lose in consequence of a royal 
decree just issued. This decree ordained that the new 
Frederick d’ or s coined by the Jewish farmer of the mint, 
and which were much too light, should be received at par 
all over the whole kingdom, and even at the treasury of- 
fices. It was, therefore, but natural that all debtors would 
hasten to pay their creditors in this coin which had im- 
parted to it so sudden and unexpected a value. Gotz- 
kowsky had received from his debtors upward of eight 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


91 


hundred thousand dollars in this light coin, while his 
foreign creditors absolutely refused to take them, and de- 
manded the payment of their debts in good money. 
Gotzkowsky, who, in consequence of his large and exten- 
sive connections abroad, had about three hundred thou- 
sand dollars in exchange against him, paid his creditors 
in gold of full weight, and lost by these transactions 
three hundred thousand dollars in one day. 

Just at the moment when this heavy loss befell him, 
Elise appeared, to welcome him. His heart sank as he 
beheld her, for as he looked at her this loss appeared in 
its full magnitude; it seemed as if not he, but his child, 
had lost a portion of her wealth. 

Elise knew and suspected nothing. She only felt 
that she had been repulsed, and she withdrew, deeply 
wounded and mortified, with the vow never to run the 
risk again of such another rebuff, such another humilia- 
tion. 

Gotzkowsky lost in this hour, not only the three hun- 
dred thousand dollars, hut, what he valued above all 
earthly treasures, the affection of his daughter, and both 
without any fault of his own. Elise forced herself to 
close her heart against her father, or at least to conquer 
her grief at the supposed indifference, or quiet, luke- 
warm inclination. And yet this ardent heart longed for 
love, as the plant longs for the sunshine which is to 
penetrate it, and ripen it into wonderful bloom. Had 
the friend and companion of her youth, Bertram, been 
near her, she wodld have confided all her sorrows to him, 
and found consolation on his breast. But he had been 
absent for about a year on his long journey; and Elise’s 
heart, which had always clung to him with a sisterly 
affection, became more and more alienated from the 
friend of her youth. 


92 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


But fate or perhaps her evil destiny ordained that, 
about this time, she should make the acquaintance of a 
young man who quickly won the love of her vacant 
heart, and filled its void. 

This young man was Colonel Feodor von Brenda, 
whom the fortune of war had thrown into Berlin. 

Elise loved him. With joy and delight, with the un- * 
hounded confidence of innocence, she gave her whole 
heart up to this new sensation. 

And, indeed, this young colonel was a very brilliant 
and imposing personage. He was one of those Russian 
aristocrats who, on the Continent, in their intercourse 
with the noblest and most exclusive society of Germany 
and France, acquire that external adroitness and social 
refinement, that brilliant graceful polish, which so well 
conceals the innate barbarism and cunning of the natu- 
ral character of the Russian. 

He was a bright companion, sufficiently conversant 
with arts and sciences to talk on every subject, without 
committing himself. He knew how to converse on all 
topics fluently enough, without betraying the superficial 
character of his knowledge and his studies. Educated 
at the court of the Empress Elizabeth, life had appeared 
to him in all its voluptuousness and fulness, hut at the 
same time had soon been stripped of all its fancies and 
illusions. For him there existed no ideals and no inno- 
cence, no faith, not even a doubt which in itself implies 
a glimmer of faith; for him there was nothing hut the 
plain, naked, undeceivable disenchantment, and pleas- 
ure was the only thing in which he still believed. 

This pleasure he pursued with all the energy of his 
originally noble and powerful character; and as all his 
divinities had been destroyed, all holy ideals had dis- 
solved into myths and hollow phantoms, he wished to 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


93 


secure one divinity, at least, to whom he could raise 
an altar, whom he could worship: this divinity was 
Pleasure. 

Pleasure he sought everywhere, in all countries; and 
the more ardently and eagerly he sought it, the less was 
he able to find it. Pleasure was the first modest, coy 
woman who cruelly shunned him, and the more he pur- 
sued her, the more coldly did she seem to fly him. 

And now he converted his whole life into an ad- 
venture, a kind of quixotic pursuit of the lost loved one, 
Pleasure. In the mean time, his heart was dead to all 
the better and nobler feelings. But, at one time, it 
seemed as if a higher and more serious inclination prom- 
ised permanently to enchain this dreaded rival of all 
husbands and lovers. 

Feodor von Brenda, the most blase , witty, insolent 
cavalier at the court of his empress, became suddenly 
serious and silent. On his proud countenance was seen, 
for the first time, the light of a soft and gentle feeling, 
and when he approached his beautiful bride, the Count- 
ess Lodoiska von Sandomir, there beamed from his dark 
eyes a glow holier and purer than the fire of sensuality. 
Could he have fled with her into some desert, could he 
have withdrawn into the stillness of his mountain castle, 
he would have been saved; but life held him with its 
thousand minute, invisible threads, and the experiences 
of his past years appeared to mock him for his credulity 
and confidence. 

Besides this woman, whom he adored as an angel, 
arose the demon of skepticism and mistrust, and regard- 
ed him with mocking smiles and looks of contempt; hut 
still Feodor von Brenda was a name of honor, a cavalier 
to whom his pledged word was sacred, and who was 
ready to pay the debt of honor which he had incurred 
7 


94 : 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


toward his betrothed; and this love for the Countess 
Lodoiska, although cankered by doubt and gnawed by 
the experiences of his own life, still had sufficient power 
over him to cause the future to appear not gloomy but 
full of promise, and to allow him to hope, if not for 
happiness, at least for rest and enjoyment. 

The war-cry roused him from these dreams and 
doubts of love. Elizabeth had united with Maria 
Theresa against Frederick of Prussia, and the Empress of 
Russia was about to send an army to the support of h^r 
ally. Feodor awoke from the sweet rest into which his 
heart had sunk, and, like Rinaldo, had torn asunder the 
rosy chains by which his Armida had sought to fetter 
him. He followed the Russian colors, and accompanied 
General Sievers as his adjutant to Germany. 

As to him all life was only an adventure, he wished 
also to enjoy the exciting pastime of war. This, at least, 
was something new, a species of pleasure and amusement 
he had not yet tried, and therefore the young colonel 
gave himself up to it with his whole soul, and an ardent 
desire to achieve deeds of valor. 

But it was his fate to be carried early from the theatre 
of war as a prisoner, and in this character he arrived 
with General Sievers at Berlin. But his durance was 
light, his prison the large and pleasant city of Berlin, in 
which he could wander about perfectly free with the 
sole restriction of not going beyond the gates. 

General Sievers became accidentally acquainted with 
Gotzkowsky, and this acquaintance soon ripened into a 
more intimate friendship. He passed the greater part 
of his days in Gotzkowsky’s house. As a lover of art, 
he could remain for hours contemplating the splendid 
pictures which Gotzkowsky had bought for the king in 
Italy, and which had not yet been delivered at Sans 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


95 


Souci; or, by the side of the manufacturer he traversed 
the large halls of the factory in which an entirely new 
life, a world of which he had no idea, was laid open to 
him. And then again Gotzkowsky would impart to him 
the wide and gigantic plans which occupied his mind; 
and this disclosed to him a view into a new era which 
arose beyond the present time, an era when industry 
would command and raise the now despised workman 
into the important and respected citizen. 

While Gotzkowsky and his friend the general were 
discussing these extensive plans, and speculating about 
the future of industry, the young people, Elise and the 
adjutant, were dreaming about the future of their love. 

The colonel had only commenced this love-affair 
with the daughter of the rich manufacturer as a new 
adventure. It was so piquant to go through all the 
stages of a romantic, dreamy German love, with a pure, 
innocent German girl, and to let himself be led by her 
through the sacred mazes of innocent romance, holy 
transports, and chaste affection — it was so pleasant a 
diversion of his captivity, why should he not enjoy it? 

This attachment to Elise was for him at first only 
a temporary amusement, and he toyed with his vows 
and wooing, until, imperceptibly, he found .his heart 
entangled in his own net. The ardent yet innocent 
love of the young girl touched his feelings. It was 
something new to be the object of so chaste and devoted 
an affection. He was ashamed of himself in his inmost 
soul to perceive with what childish trust, what sacred se- 
curity and humble resignation this young, rich, and 
beautiful maiden gave herself up to him. 

For the first time, he experienced an ardent desire to 
be worthy of so noble an affection, and to resemble, at 
least in some slight degree, the ideal picture which Elise 


96 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


had formed of him — to be something of the hero, the 
knight, the noble being whom Elise worshipped in him. 

At the same time it was so surprising and strange to 
meet a girl, who, all submission and devoted love, yet re- 
mained firm and immovable in her purity and chastity, 
so bright and proud that even he felt respect for this in- 
nocence which surrounded the beloved one like a halo, 
and his lips refused to utter words at which her pure soul 
might tremble. 

With his fiery and mercurial temperament, he had, 
with a kind of passionate curiosity, adopted the role of 
a Platonic lover, and the libertine in his character had 
been subdued by the love of the eccentric. He had con- 
verted this love into a kind of adoration. He placed 
Elise upon the altar, and worshipped her as a saint to 
whom he had turned from the turmoil and wild lust 
of life, and in the contemplation and worship of whom 
he could obtain forgiveness of all his sins and errors. 
It affected him to think that Elise was praying for him 
while he, perhaps, forgot her in the whirlpool of pleas- 
ure; that she believed in him so devotedly and truly, 
that she looked up to him so lovingly and humbly — to 
him who was so far her inferior. And in the midst of 
his wild life of pleasure he felt the need of some saint 
to intercede for forgiveness for him. All these new 
and unaccustomed feelings only enchained him the 
more closely, and made him consider the possession of 
her as the most desirable and only worthy object of his 
life. 

She must be his; he was determined to wear this 
brilliant diamond, the only one he had ever found 
genuine and without flaw, as his most costly possession; 
to become, in spite of all difficulties and impossibilities, 
unmindful of his betrothed bride and his solemn vows, 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


97 

the husband of this beautiful German maiden, who had 
given herself to him heart and soul. 

In proportion to the difficulties that opposed such a 
union, increased his fierce determination to overcome 
them. He was betrothed, and the Empress Elizabeth 
herself had blessed the betrothal. He could not, there- 
fore, retract his vows without exciting the anger of his 
mistress, and history had more than one example to 
show how violent and annihilating this anger could be. 
In like wise, Elise dared not hope ever to obtain the con- 
sent of her father to her union with a man who was the 
enemy of her country. She was obliged to conceal this 
love with anxious care from his eyes, if she did not wish 
to expose herself to the danger of being separated from 
her lover forever. She knew that her father, in every 
thing else uniformly kind and yielding toward her, was 
on this one subject implacable, and that no tears, no 
pleading, were capable of moving the firm and energetic 
will of the ardent patriot. 

Both were obliged, therefore, to preserve their love a 
secret, and in this concealment lay for Feodor a new 
charm which bound him to her, while it estranged Elise’s 
heart still more from her father, and chained it in un- 
bounded devotion to her lover. 

In the mean while the time arrived for Feodor to 
leave Berlin with General Sievers. He swore eternal 
love and fidelity to Elise, and she vowed to him cheer- 
fully never to become the wife of another, but in pa- 
tience and trust to await his return, and to hope for the 
end of the war and the coming of peace, which would 
solve all difficulties, and remove the opposition of her 
father. 

That besides her father there could be any obstacle, 
she did not suspect; Feodor had so often sworn that she 


93 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


was his first and only love, and she, young and inexperi- 
enced as she was, believed him. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A FAITHFUL FRIEND. 

Elise’s father had not yet returned. She was still 
alone, but in her soul there was neither fear nor trem- 
bling, but only a defiant grief at this apparent indiffer- 
ence to the danger which had threatened her, in common 
with the rest of Berlin, for the last two days. 

She had shut herself up in her room, not that she 
anticipated any danger, but because she wished to be 
alone, because she wished to avoid Bertram, the faithful 
friend, who had watched over her during this time 
with the most attentive devotion. Truthfully had 
he remained in the house, deserted by her father, as a 
careful watchman; had never left its door; but, armed 
with dagger and pistol, he had stationed himself as a 
sentinel in the antechamber, ready to hasten at the 
slightest call of Elise, to defend her with his life against 
any attack or any danger, and Elise felt herself bound to 
him in gratitude, and yet this duty of gratitude was a 
burden to her. It was distressing and painful to her 
to see Bertram’s quiet and mournful countenance, to 
read in his dimmed eyes the presence of a grief so coura- 
geously subdued. But yet she had endeavored to over- 
come this feeling, and she had often come to him lately 
to chat with him about past times and to reward him 
with her society for his protection and faithful presence. 
And yet Bertram’s tender conscience was well aware of 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


99 


the constraint Elise had put herself under, and the 
harmless and cheerful chat was to him all the more pain- 
ful, as it reminded him of past times and blasted hopes. 

He had, therefore, with a melancholy smile of resig- 
nation, requested Elise not to come any more into the 
hall, as it would he better, by the anticipated occupation 
of the enemy, to remain in her room, in the upper story 
of the house, and to lock the door in order to secure her 
from any possible surprise. 

Elise had completely understood the delicacy and 
nobleness of this request, and since then had remained 
quiet and undisturbed in her room. 

Thus the second night had commenced. She passed 
it like the one preceding, wandering up and down, not 
needing sleep, hut kept awake by her thoughts and cares. 
In the middle of the night she was interrupted in her 
anxious reveries by Bertram, who came to her door, and 
in a low and timid voice requested permission to enter. 

Elise knew very well that she could trust Bertram 
like a brother, as an unselfish, disinterested friend. 
Therefore, fearlessly she opened the door, and bade him 
come in. Bertram entered timidly and confused, almost 
overpowered by happiness, for this room into which he 
came was Elise’s bedroom, the sanctuary of maidenhood 
and beauty, and he felt disposed to kneel down and pray, 
so evidently did this room seem to him a temple of in- 
nocence. 

It appeared to him as if his unholy foot was not 
worthy to tread this ground, nor to approach the bed 
which, with its white curtains, seemed to wave before 
his dazzled eyes like a white swan. 

In soft and gentle words he brought to Elise greeting 
from her father. He related to her how Gotzkowsky 
had visited his house, not to take rest, but to see Elise; 


100 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


how, scarcely arrived there, a messenger from the Coun- 
cil had called him back to the town-hall. There he had 
commissioned Bertram to request his daughter to with- 
draw from the front rooms of the house, and to retire 
into those next to the garden, where she would be safer 
and have less to fear from the enemy as he marched in. 

“ At last, then, my father has consented to think of 
me,” said - Elise, with a bitter smile. “His patriotism 
has allowed him leisure to remember his only daughter, 
who would have remained solitary and forsaken in the 
midst of servants and hirelings if my noble and faithful 
brother had not assumed the duties of my father, and 
watched over and protected me.” She reached out both 
her hands to Bertram with a look full of gratitude, but 
he scarcely touched them; he held them for a moment 
lightly and coldly in his, and then let them go. This 
slight and transient touch had shot through him like 
an electric shot, and reawakened all the sorrows of his 
soul. 

“ You will then leave this room? ” asked Bertram, 
approaching the door. 

“ I will go into the hall immediately next to it.” 

“ All alone? ” asked Bertram; and then fearing that 
she might suspect him of wishing to force his company 
upon her, he added, quickly, “ You ought to keep one 
of your maids near you, Elise.” 

Smilingly she shook her head. “For what pur- 
pose? ” asked she. “ Bertram is my protector, and I 
am quite safe. I have sent my maids to their rooms. 
They were tired from long watching and weeping; let 
them sleep. Bertram will watch for all of us. I have 
no fear, and I would not even leave this room, if it were 
not that I wished to comply with the rarely expressed 
and somewhat tardy desire of my father.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


101 


Saying which, she took tfye silver candelabras from 
the table and quietly traversed the room in order to 
proceed to the adjoining hall. At the door she stopped 
and turned round. The full light of the candles shone 
on her handsome, expressive face, and Bertram gazed on 
her with a mixture of delight and anguish. 

“ Bertram,” said she gently and timidly, “ Bertram, 
my brother, let me thank you for all your love and con- 
stancy. Would that I could reward you more worthily! 
In that case all would be different, and we would not all 
be so sad and despondent as we now are. But always re- 
member, my brother, that I will never cease to love you 
as a sister, and that if I cannot compel my heart to love 
you otherwise, yet no other power, no other feeling can 
ever lessen or destroy my sisterly affection. Remember 
this, Bertram, and be not angry with me.” She nodded 
to him with a sweet smile, and retreated through the 
door. 

Bertram stood rooted to the floor like one enchanted, 
and gazed at the door through which this vision of light 
had departed. He then raised his eyes to heaven, and 
his countenance shone with excitement. “ God grant 
that she may be happy! ” prayed he, softly. “ May she 
never be tormented by the agonies of error or repent- 
ance; may he whom she loves prove worthy of her! ” 

Overpowered by bitter and painful thoughts, his head 
sank upon his breast, and tears coursed down his cheeks. 
But he did not abandon himself long to his sad and anx- 
ious thoughts, nor did he allow sorrow long to take pos- 
session of his heart. After a short pause he raised him- 
self and shook his head, as if to roll off the whole burden 
of care and grief with all the power of his will. 

“ At least I will always be at her side,” said he, his 
countenance beaming from the noble decision. “ I will 


102 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


follow her like a faithful, watchful dog, and ward off 
from her every danger and every misfortune which 
comes from man and not from God. She has called me 
her brother! Well, a brother has both rights and duties, 
and I will perform them! ” 


CHAPTER XV. 

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 

The hall to which Elise had retired, next to her bed- 
room, was on the garden side of the house, and its glass 
doors opened on a porch from which handsomely orna- 
mented bronze steps led winding down into the garden. 
Notwithstanding the advanced season of the year, the 
night was mild, and the moon shone brightly. Elise 
opened the glass doors and stepped out on the porch to 
cool her burning forehead in the fresh night air; and, 
leaning on the balustrade, she looked up smiling and 
dreamily at the moon. Sweet and precious fancies filled 
the soul of the young maiden, and brought the color to 
her cheeks. 

She thought of her lover, who so lately had appeared 
to her as in a dream; she repeated to herself each one of 
his words. With a sweet hut trembling emotion she 
remembered that he had bidden her to await him; that 
he had sworn to her to come, even if his way should be 
over dead bodies and through rivers of blood. 

With all the pride of a loving girl she recalled his 
bold and passionate words, and she rejoiced in her heart 
that she could call herself the bride of a hero. Even if 
this hero was the enemy of her country, what did she 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


103 


care? She loved him, and what to her were nationali- 
ties or the quarrels of princes? She was his — his in love 
and faith, in purity and innocence; what cared she for 
aught else? 

Elise started suddenly from her dreams. She had 
heard a noise down in the garden, and leaned listening 
over the balustrade. What was the meaning of this 
noise? Was it perhaps some thief, who, under cover of 
the general confusion, had stolen into the garden? 
Elise remained motionless, and listened. She had not 
deceived herself, for she distinctly heard footsteps. A 
feeling of fear took possession of her, and yet she did not 
dare to move from the spot, nor to cry for help. Might 
it not be her lover, for whom she had promised to wait? 

With strained attention she gazed down into the 
garden; her eye seemed to penetrate the darkness with 
its sharp, searching look. But she could distinguish 
nothing; not an object moved through these silent paths, 
where the yellow sand was sufficiently lighted up by the 
moon to betray any one sufficiently hold to tread them. 
Every thing was again quiet; but Elise shuddered at 
these long, black shadows cast on both sides of the alleys; 
she was afraid to remain any longer on the porch. She 
retired into the hall, the door to which she had left open 
on purpose to perceive any noise coming from that 
quarter. 

Now again she became aware of steps approaching 
nearer and nearer. She wished to rise, hut her feet re- 
fused their office. She sank hack powerless into her 
chair and closed her eyes. She could not determine 
whether it was fear or happy expectation which per- 
vaded her whole being. 

And now the footsteps ascended into the porch, and 
came quite near to the window. Would a thief dare 


104 : 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


to approach these lighted windows? She raised her 
eyes. He stood before her! — he, her beloved, the friend 
of her heart, her thoughts, her hopes! Feodor von 
Brenda stood in the doorway of the hall, and uttered 
softly her name. She could not rise, her feet trembled 
so; and in her heart she experienced an uneasy sensation 
of fear and terror. And yet she stretched her arms out 
to him, and welcomed him with her looks and her smile. 

And now she lay in his arms, now he pressed her 
firmly to his heart, and whispered tender, flattering 
words in her ear. 

She pushed him gently hack, and gazed at him with 
a smile of delight. But suddenly her look clouded, and 
she sighed deeply. Feodor’s brilliant Russian uniform 
pained her, and reminded her of the danger he might 
he incurring. He read her fear and anxiety in her 
countenance. 

“ Do not he afraid, my sweet one,” whispered he 
gently, drawing her into his arms. “ No danger threat- 
ens us. My people are now masters of the town. Ber- 
lin has surrendered to the Russians. The enemy is now 
conqueror and master, and no one would dare to touch 
this uniform. Even your father must now learn to 
yield, and to forget his hatred.” 

“ He will never do it,” sighed Elise sadly. “ You 
do not know him, Feodor. His will never bends, and 
the most ardent prayers would not induce him to grant 
that to his heart which his judgment does not approve 
of. He is not accustomed to yield. His riches make 
him almost despotic. Every one yields to him.” 

“ He is the king of merchants,” said Feodor, as he 
passed his fingers playfully through the dark tresses of 
the young girl, whose head rested on his shoulder. “ His 
money makes him as powerful as a prince.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


105 


“ That is exactly my misfortune,” sighed Elise. 

The colonel laughed, and pressed a kiss upon her 
forehead. “ Dreamer,” said he, “ do you call yourself 
miserable because you are the daughter of a million- 
naire?” 

“ Millions alone do not make one happy,” said she 
sadly. “ The heart grows cold over the dead money, 
and my father’s heart is cold toward his daughter. He 
has so many thousand other things to do and think of 
besides his daughter! The whole world has claims upon 
him; every one requires his advice, submits to and obeys 
him. From all parts of the world come letters to be 
answered, and, when at last, late in the evening, he re- 
members he is something besides the king on ’Change, 
the man of speculation, he is so tired and exhausted, that 
he has only a few dull words for his child, who lives soli- 
tary in the midst of all this wealth, and curses the mil- 
lions which make her poor.” 

She had spoken with increasing excitement and bit- 
terness. Even her love had for a moment been eclipsed 
by the feeling of an injured daughter, whose grief she 
now for the first time disclosed to her lover. 

As she finished speaking, she laid her arm on Feo- 
dor’s shoulder, and clung still more closely to him, as if 
to find in his heart protection and shelter against all 
pain and every grief. Like a poor, broken flower she 
laid herself on his breast, and Feodor gazed at her with 
pride and pity. At this moment he wished to try her 
heart, and discover whether he alone was master of it. 
For that purpose had he come; for this had he risked 
this meeting. In this very hour should she follow him 
and yield herself to him in love and submission. His 
long separation from her, his wild soldier’s life had 
crushed out the last blossoms of tender and chaste affec- 


106 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


tion in his heart, and he ridiculed himself for his pure, 
adoring, timid love. Distrust had resumed power over 
him, and doubt, like a mildew, had spread itself over his 
last ideal. Elise was to him only a woman like the rest. 
She was his property, and as such he wished to do with 
her as he chose. 

But yet there was something in her pure, loving 
being which mastered him against his will, and, as it 
were, changed his determination. In her presence, look- 
ing into her clear pure eye, he forgot his dark designs 
and his dreary doubts, and Elise became again the angel 
of innocence and purity, Ihe saint to whom he prayed, 
and whose tender looks shed forgiveness on him. 

This young girl, resting so calmly and confidingly 
on his breast, and looking at him so innocently and pure- 
ly, moved him, and made him blush for himself and 
his wild, bold desires. Silent and reflecting he sat at 
her side, hut she could read in his looks, in his smile, 
that he loved her. What further need had she of 
words? 

She raised her head from his breast, and looked at 
him for a long time, and her countenance assumed a 
bright, happy expression. 

“ Oh,” said she, “ do I call myself poor when I have 
you? I am no longer poor since I have known you, hut 
I have been so; and this, my friend, must he the excuse 
for my love. I stood in the midst of the cold glitter of 
gold as in an enchanted castle, and all around me was 
lifeless, stiffened into torpidity by enchantment, and I 
knew no talisman to break the charm. You came, and 
brought with you love. The talisman was found; a 
warm life awoke in me, and all the splendor of gold 
crumbled into dust. I was rich then, for I loved; now 
I am rich, for you love me! ” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


107 


“ Yes, I love you,” cried he; “ let your father keep 
his treasures. You, and only you, do I desire.” 

She sprang up startled from his arms. In the over- 
powering happiness of the hour she had entirely forgot- 
ten the danger which threatened her lover. She sud- 
denly remembered, and her cheek paled. 

“ My father! ” cried she, “ if he should come at this 
moment! His look alone would he enough to kill me.” 
And anxiously and tremblingly she clung to Feodor. 

“ Fear not, dear one,” he whispered, “ he is not com- 
ing. God protects and watches over those who love each 
other. Do not think of danger. Banish all care, all fear. 
This hour belongs to us, and as I now fold you in my 
arms with delight, so let it be always and forever. For 
you know, precious child, that you are mine, that you can 
never belong to another; that you have pledged yourself, 
and at some future time must follow me as your husband.” 

“ I know it, I know it,” she murmured; and, in bliss- 
ful self-forgetfulness, she leaned her head on his shoul- 
der, and listened with heating heart to the burning, pas- 
sionate words which he poured into her ear. 

Of a sudden, with the rapidity of lightning, she 
sprang up, as if an electric shock had pervaded her body, 
and listened eagerly. 

As Feodor was about to speak, to inquire the cause 
of her sudden terror, she quickly pressed her hand to his 
mouth. “ Silence,” whispered she softly. “ I heard it 
distinctly. My father is coming hither through the 
garden! ” 

They both listened in silence. In the quiet of the 
night Gotzkowsky’s voice was now heard. He ordered 
his servants to shut the garden gates carefully, and 
watch them well, as the Russians entering the town 
would pass by this wall. 


108 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


“You are right / 5 said Feodor; “it is your father. 
Truly this is an unlucky accident . 55 

“ He will kill me if he finds you here / 5 murmured 
Elise, clinging, half fainting, to her lover’s arm. 

“ I will protect you with my life / 5 said he, pressing 
her more firmly to him. 

“ No, no ! 55 cried she breathlessly; “ he must not 
find you here. No one must see you. Oh, Feodor, lis- 
ten to me. He is not alone; Bertram and his servants 
are with him. Oh, my God, they will kill you! Save 
yourself; leave me, Feodor, and conceal yourself ! 55 And 
drawing him with irresistible strength to the door, she 
whispered, “ In there, in my bedroom conceal yourself . 55 

“ Never / 5 said he firmly and decidedly. “ Never 
will I hide myself, or sneak away like a coward ! 55 

“ You must do it / 5 entreated she; and as she saw that 
he hesitated and drew back unwillingly, she continued: 
“ Not for your sake — for the sake of my honor, Feodor. 
Remember it is night, and I am alone with you . 55 

“ Yes, you are right / 5 said Feodor sadly. “ Hide me; 
no spot must tarnish your honor . 55 

With convulsive haste, Elise drew him to the door of 
her chamber. Gotzkowsky’s voice was heard just out- 
side the window. 

“ Quick! hasten, they are coming ! 55 said she, pull- 
ing the door open, and pushing him hurriedly on. 

“ He is saved / 5 cried her heart joyfully, as she closed 
the door after him, and, sinking down, half fainting in 
a chair, her lips murmured, “ Have mercy, gracious God; 
have mercy on him and me ! 55 

At this moment her father, accompanied by Bertram 
and the factory workman, Balthazar, entered the room 
through the door of the balcony. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


109 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE FUGITIVE. 

Gotzkowsky at length returned to his home. Sad 
and sorrowful was his soul, and his brow, at other times 
so smooth and clear, was now dark and clouded. He 
mourned for his country, for the fruitless battles, the 
blood shed in vain, and, in the hitter grief of his heart, 
he asked himself what crime he had committed, that to 
him should be assigned the painful duty of deciding to 
which of the enemies they should surrender. And yet 
the decision was imperative, and Berlin had to he sur- 
rendered to the Russians. 

In gloomy sadness, hardly casting a passing glance 
at his daughter, whose anxiety and death-like paleness 
he did not even perceive, Gotzkowsky entered the hall, 
Bertram carefully bolting the doors behind him, and 
then in an undertone gave Balthazar and the servants 
directions for the protection of the house. 

“ What a dreadful night! ” said Gotzkowsky, sink- 
ing down on a sofa exhausted; “ my heart aches as much 
as my limbs.” 

For a moment he closed his eyes, and lay silent and 
motionless. Elise was still leaning trembling and breath- 
less on the chair near the door. Gotzkowsky raised his 
head, and his eyes sought his daughter. As he per- 
ceived her, a gentle and pleased expression passed over 
his face, and his brow grew clearer. He hastened to her 
and raised her in his arms. 

“ Bless you, Elise, my child! for two days have I been 
nothing hut citizen and soldier; now at last I am per- 
mitted to remember that I am a father. I had almost 
8 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


110 

forgotten it during these wild sad days. Good-evening, 
my darling child ! 99 

Elise kissed his hand respectfully, and muttered a 
low welcome. 

Gotzkowsky said in a gentle tone, “ This is a comfort 
which makes me forget all my sufferings. Come, my 
children, let us for one bright hour put aside all care and 
trouble, and be happy and cheerful together. Let us 
have breakfast. This poor, weak body needs refresh- 
ment, for it reminds me that, for two days, I have been 
living on prison fare, bread and water. Come, then, let 
us breakfast. Bertram, sit by my side, and our sweet 
little housekeeper will help us to coffee.” 

Elise rose with difficulty and gave the necessary 
orders to the servants; and while the latter were hurry- 
ing to and fro, serving up breakfast, Gotzkowsky re- 
clined on the sofa, half asleep from exhaustion; and 
Bertram and Elise sat opposite to each other in silence. 
Suddenly there were heard in the distance wild yells, 
and loud noises and cries. Then hasty steps flew up the 
staircase; the hall door was pulled open, and a soldier 
rushed in. With breathless haste he bolted the door 
behind him, threw off the white cloak which concealed 
his figure, and the broad-brimmed hat which covered 
his head, and sank with a loud sigh into a chair. Gotz- 
kowsky hurried up to him and looked at him attentively. 
Elise, with an instinctive feeling of the danger which 
threatened Feodor, turned to the door behind which he 
was hidden. 

“ The artilleryman, Fritz! ” cried Gotzkowsky, with 
visible astonishment. 

“Yes, it is me,” groaned the soldier. “Save me, 
Gotzkowsky; do not deliver me up to these barbarians! ” 

Gotzkowsky laid his hand on his shoulder with a 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Ill 

friendly smile. “ I would not betray the enemy himself, 
if he sought refuge in my house; and you ask me not 
to betray the most valiant and renowned defender of 
Berlin. Bertram, this man here, this simple cannoneer, 
has performed miracles of valor, and earned for himself 
an enviable name in these last unfortunate days. It was 
he who had charge of the only two cannon Berlin pos- 
sessed, and who, never tiring, without rest or relaxation, 
sent death into the ranks of the enemy. Be assured, 
my son, you have fought these two days like a hero, and 
it cannot be God’s wish that, as a reward for your 
bravery, you should fall into the hands of the enemy.” 

“ They pursue me everywhere,” said the artillery- 
man. “ Hunted by De Lacy’s chasseurs like a wild 
beast, I fled down the street hither. You told me yester- 
day that if ever I wanted a friend in need, you would be 
one to me. Therefore have I come to you. The Aus- 
trians have sworn vengeance on the cannoneer, whose 
balls swept their ranks so murderously, and have set a 
large price on my head.” 

“ Ah! ” cried Gotzkowsky, laughing, “ the Austrians 
advertise rewards before they have got the money to pay 
them. Let them set a thousand ducats on your head, 
my son. They will have to do without the ducats, and 
your head too, for Berlin will give them neither. If we 
must pay the money, the Russian shall have it; and as 
for your head, well, I will pay for that with my life. 
You have fought like a lion, and like lions we will de- 
fend you.” 

“ What have I gained by fighting?” said Fritz, with 
a mournful shrug of the shoulders. “ The enemy have 
succeeded in getting into the town, and their rage is 
fearful. They have sworn to kill me. But you will not 
give me up! and should they come here and find me. 


112 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


then have pity on me and kill me, but do not give me up 
to the enemy! ” 

“ To kill you, they must kill both of us first! ” cried 
Bertram, taking the brave cannoneer by the hand. “ We 
will hide him in your house; won’t we, Father Gotz- 
kowsky? ” 

“ Yes, and so safely that no one will be able to find 
him! ” cried Gotzkowsky, cheerfully, raising the soldier 
up by the hand. “ Follow me, my son. In my daugh- 
ter’s chamber is a safe hiding-place. The mirror on the 
wall covers a secret door, behind which is a space just 
large enough to conceal a person. Come.” 

He led the artilleryman toward the door of Elise’s 
room. But before this door Elise had stationed herself, her 
cheeks burning and her eyes flashing. The danger of her 
lover lent her courage and determination, and enabled 
her to meet the anger of her father unflinchingly. 

“ Not in there, father! ” said she, in a tone almost 
commanding,; “not into my room!” 

Gotzkowsky stepped back in astonishment, and gazed 
at his daughter. “ How,” asked he, “ do you forbid me 
the entrance? ” 

“ Behind the picture of the Virgin in the large hall 
is a similar hiding-place,” said Elise, hurriedly; “ carry 
him thither.” 

Gotzkowsky did not answer immediately. He only 
gazed firmly and inquiringly into Elise’s countenance. 
Dark and dismal misgivings, which he had often with 
much difficulty suppressed, now arose again, and filled 
his soul with angry, desperate thoughts. Like Virginius 
of old, he would have preferred to kill his daughter to 
delivering her into the hands of the enemy. 

“ And why should he go there, and not remain 
here? ” asked he at last with an effort. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 113 

“ Remember, father,” stammered she, blushing, 

<( j » 

She stopped as she met the look of her father, which 
rested on her with penetrating power — as she read the 
rising anger of his soul in the tense swollen veins of his 
brow, and his pale, trembling lips. 

Bertram had witnessed this short but impressive 
scene with increasing terror. Elise’s anxiety, her pale- 
ness and trembling, the watch which she kept over that 
door, had not escaped him, even on his entrance, and 
filled him with painful uneasiness. But as he now rec- 
ognized in Gotzkowsky’s features the signs of an anger 
which was the more violent for the very reason that he 
so seldom gave way to it, he felt the necessity of coming 
to the assistance of his distressed sister. He approached 
her father, and laid his hand lightly on his shoulder. 

“ Elise is right,” said he, entreatingly. “ Respect her 
maiden hesitation.” 

Gotzkowsky turned round upon him with an im- 
patient toss of the head, and stared him full in the face. 
He then broke into a fit of wild, derisive laughter. 

“ Yes,” said he, “ we will respect her maiden hesita- 
tion. You have spoken wisely, Bertram. Listen: you 
know the partition behind the picture of the Madonna 
in the picture-gallery. Carry our brave friend thither, 
and take heed that the’ spring is carefully closed.” 

Bertram looked at him sadly and anxiously. He had 
never before seen this man, usually so calm, so passion- 
ately excited. 

“ You will not go with us, father? ” asked he. 

“ Ho,” said Gotzkowsky, harshly; “ I remain here to 
await the enemy.” 

He cast on Elise, still leaning against the door, a 
threatening look, which made her heart tremble. 


114 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Bertram sighed, and had not the courage to go and 
forsake Elise in this anxious and critical moment. 

“ Hasten, friend,” said Gotzkowsky, sternly. “ The 
life of a brave man is at stake. Hasten! ” 

The young man dared not gainsay him, but he ap- 
proached Gotzkowsky, and whispered softly: “ Be le- 
nient, father. See how she trembles! Poor sister! ” 
And with a painful glance at Elise, he took the hand 
of the artilleryman, and led him out of the room. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE EAVESDROPPER. 

Elise was now alone with her father. She had sunk 
down near the fatal door, and her colorless lips mur- 
mured faint prayers. 

Gotzkowsky stood there, still relentless; but his agi- 
tated countenance, his lowering brow, his flashing eyes, 
betrayed the deep and passionate emotion of his soul. 
Struck and wounded fatally in his most sacred feelings, 
he felt no pity, no compassion for this poor trembling 
girl, who followed his every motion with a timid, anx- 
ious eye. His whole being was filled with burning rage 
against his daughter, who, his misgiving heart told him, 
had trampled his honor in the dust. 

A long and dreadful pause occurred. Nothing was 
heard but Gotzkowsky’s loud, heavy breathing, and 
Elise’s low-muttered prayers. Suddenly Gotzkowsky 
drew himself up, and threw his head proudly back. He 
then walked to the door leading into the balcony, and to 
the opposite one, and ascertained that they were both 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


115 


closed. No one could intrude, no one interrupt this 
fearful dialogue. 

Elise was terribly conscious of this, and could only 
whisper, “ Pity, pity, merciful God! I shall die with 
terror! ” 

Gotzkowsky approached her, and, seizing her hand, 
raised her rapidly from the floor. “ We are alone now,” 
said he with a hoarse, harsh voice. “ Answer me, now. 
Who is concealed there in your room? ” 

“No one, my father.” 

“No one! ” repeated he, sternly. “ Why, then, do 
you tremble?” 

“ I tremble because you look at me so angrily,” said 
she, terrified. 

Her father cast her hand passionately from him. 
“ Liar! ” cried he. “ Do you wish me to kill him? ” 

He took his sword from the table, and approached 
the door. 

“ What are you going to do, my father? ” cried she, 
throwing herself in his way. 

“ I am going to kill the thief who stole my daughter’s 
honor,” cried Gotzkowsky, his eyes flashing with rage. 

“ Father, father, by the God in heaven I am inno- 
cent! ” cried she, convulsively, striving to hold him 
hack. 

“ Then let me have the proof of this innocence,” said 
he, pushing her hack. 

But she sprang forward with the agility of a gazelle, 
rushed again to the door, and clung with both hands to 
the lock. 

“ No, no, father, I remain here. You shall not in- 
sult yourself and me so much as to believe what is dis- 
honorable and unworthy of me, and to require a proof 
of my innocence.” 


116 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


This bold opposition of Elise only excited Gotzkow- 
sky’s anger the more, and was to him a fresh proof of her 
guilt. His rage overpowered him; with raised arm and 
flashing eye he strode up to Elise, and cried out: “ Away 
from the door, or by Heaven I will forget that I am 
your father! ” 

“ Oh,” cried she breathlessly, “ you have often for- 
gotten that, but think now; remember that I am the 
daughter of the wife whom you loved! Trust me, father. 
By the memory of my mother, I swear to you that my 
honor is pure from any spot; and, however much ap- 
pearances may be against me, I am nevertheless inno- 
cent. I have never done any thing of which my father 
would have to be ashamed. Believe me, father; give 
me your hand and say to me — ‘ I believe your innocence; 
I trust you even without proof ! 9 99 

9 She sank down on her knees, raising her arms im- 
ploringly to him, while burning tears streamed down her 
cheeks. Gotzkowsky gazed at her long and silently, and 
his child’s tears touched the father’s heart. 

“ Perhaps I do her injustice,” said he to himself, 
looking thoughtfully into her weeping face. “ She may 
be really innocent. Let us try,” said he, after a pause, 
pressing his hands to his burning temples. As he let 
them drop, his countenance was again calm and clear, 
and there was no longer visible any trace of his former 
anger. “ I will believe you,” said he. “ Here, Elise, is 
my hand.” 

Elise uttered a cry of joy, sprang up from her knees, 
rushed toward her father, and pressed her burning lips 
on his extended hand. “My father, I thank you. I 
will ever he grateful to you,” cried she, fondly. 

Gotzkowsky held her hand firmly in his own, and 
while speaking to her approached, apparently hy 'acci- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


117 


dent, the door so bravely defended by Elise. “ You are 
right, my child; I was a fool to doubt you, but I am 
jealous of my honor, the most precious property of an 
honest man. Much can be bought with gold, but not 
honor. True honor is bright and clear as a mirror, and 
the slightest breath dims it. Oh, how would this envi- 
ous, grudging, malignant world rejoice if it could only 
find a spot on my honor! But woe to him who dims it, 
even if it were my own child! ” 

Elise turned pale and cast down her eyes. Gotzkow- 
sky perceived it. He still held her hand in his, and ap- 
proached the door with her, hut he compelled his voice 
to be gentle and mild. 

“ I repeat,” said he, “ I wronged you, hut it was a 
terrible suspicion which tortured me, and I will confess 
it to you, my child. The Russian flag of truce which 
came into town to negotiate with the authorities was ac- 
companied by ten soldiers and two officers. While the 
commissioner was transacting business in the Council- 
chamber above, they remained below in the lower story 
of the building. I accompanied the commissioner, as he 
left the Council, down-stairs, and we found his military 
escort in a state of anxiety and excitement, for one of 
the officers had left them two hours before, and had not 
yet returned, and they had called and hunted for him 
everywhere. The Russians were furious, and cried out 
that we had murdered one of their officers. I succeeded 
in quieting them, but my own heart I could not quiet; it 
felt convulsively cramped when I heard the name of 
this missing officer. Need I name him?” 

Elise did not answer. She looked at her father, with 
tears in her eyes, and shook her head languidly. 

Gotzkowsky continued: “ It is the name of a man to 
whom I formerly showed much friendship; toward whom 


118 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


I exercised hospitality, and whom I made free of my 
house, and who now shows his gratitude by stealing the 
heart of my daughter, like a pitiful thief. Oh, do not 
attempt to deny this. I know it, Elise; and if I have 
hitherto avoided speaking to you about this matter, it 
was because I had confidence in your sound sense, and in 
the purity of heart of a German girl to sustain you in re- 
sisting a feeling which would lead you astray from the 
path of duty and honor. I do not say that you loved 
him, but that he wished to seduce you into loving him 
clandestinely, behind your father’s back. That is his 
gratitude for my hospitality.” 

Speaking thus, Gotzkowsky pressed his daughter’s 
hand more firmly in his own, and continued approaching 
more closely to the door. “ Only think,” continued he, 
“ the mad thought crossed my mind — ‘ How if this man 
should he rash and foolhardy enough to have gone to 
my daughter? ’ But I forgot to tell you his name. 
Feodor von Brenda was the name of the treacherous 
guest, and Feodor von Brenda was also the name of the 
officer who left the commissioner, perhaps in search of 
some love adventure. But why do you tremble? ” asked 
he in a loud tone, as her hand quivered in his. 

“ I do not tremble, father,” replied she, striving for 
composure. 

Gotzkowsky raised his voice still higher till it sound- 
ed again. “ Forgive me this suspicion, my daughter. 

I should have known that, even if this insolent Russian 
dared to renew a former acquaintance, my daughter 
would never be so mean, never stoop so low as to wel- 
come him, for a German girl would never throw away 
her honor on a Russian boor.” 

“ Father,” cried Elise, terrified and forgetting all 
her prudence, “ oh, father! do not speak so loud.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


119 


“ Not so loud? Why, then, some one can hear us? ” 
asked Gotzkowsky, pressing the arm of his daughter. 
“ I will speak loud, I will declare it aloud. He is a 
scoundrel who conceals himself in a dastardly and dis- 
honorable manner, instead of defending himself! a 
coward who would put the honor of a maiden in the 
scale against his own miserable life. No German would 
do that. Only a Russian would be base enough to hide 
himself, instead of defending his life like a man! ” 

At this moment the door of the bedroom was vio- 
lently torn open, and the Russian colonel appeared on the 
threshold, his cheeks burning and his eyes flashing with 
anger. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE TWO CANNONEERS. 

Elise uttered a cry of terror, and stared at her lover 
with wide-opened eyes. But Gotzkowsky’s counte- 
nance was illuminated with a dark and savage joy. 
“ Ah, at last, then! ” said he, letting go the arm of his 
daughter, and grasping his sword. 

But the colonel advanced proudly and collectedly to- 
ward him. “ Here am I, sir,” said .he; “ here am I, to 
defend myself and avenge an insult.” 

“ I have driven you out of your hiding-place, as the 
fox draws the badger out of his kennel,” cried Gotzkow- 
sky, with derisive laughter, purposely calculated to 
irritate the anger of the young officer to the highest 
pitch. 

The two men stood opposite to each other, and gazed 
at one another with faces full of hatred and rage. 


120 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Elise threw herself between them, and falling on her 
knees before her father, exclaimed, “Kill me, father; 
save your honor — kill me! ” 

But Gotzkowsky slung her pitilessly aside. “ Away! ” 
cried he, roughly. “ What do you here? Make room for 
us! Here is a man with whom I can fight for my 
honor.” 

Feodor stepped quickly toward Elise, who was still 
kneeling on the floor, wringing her hands, and sobbing 
from intense pain. He raised her up, and whispering a 
few words in her ear, led her to the sofa. He then 
turned to Gotzkowsky, and said, “ Your honor is pure 
and unspotted, sir! Whatever you may think of me; 
you must respect the virtue of your daughter. She is ? 
innocent.” 

“Innocent,” cried Gotzkowsky derisively, “inno- 
cent! why, your very presence has polluted the inno- 
cence of my daughter.” 

“ Father, kill me, but do not insult me! ” cried she, 
a dark glow suffusing her cheeks. 

“ Pour out your anger on me,” said Feodor ardently. 

“ It is a piece of barbarism to attack a defenceless girl.” 

Gotzkowsky laughed out loud and scornfully: “ You 
speak of barbarism, and you a Russian! ” 

An exclamation of rage escaped the colonel; he 
seized his sword and drawing it quickly advanced to- 
ward Gotzkowsky. 

At last! ” cried Gotzkowsky, triumphantly, raising 
his blade. But Elise, beside herself, and heedldSs of the 
flashing steel, threw herself between them. With burn- 
ing words she entreated Feodor to spare her father, and 
not to raise his sword against him. But Gotzkowsky’s 
voice overpowered hers. Such wild words of contempt 
and insulting rage issued from his lips, that the young 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


121 


officer, hurt in his military honor, did not dare to listen 
to the voice of his beloved. It was he now who pressed 
Elise back, and with raised arm placed himself opposite 
to her father. 

“ You must kill me, sir, or wash out this insult with 
your blood,” cried he, preparing himself for the combat. 

Both were then silent. It was a terrible, unearthly 
silence, only broken by the clash of their swords or the 
occasional outcries of anger or savage joy, as one or the 
other received or gave a blow. Elise raised her head to 
heaven and prayed; every thing became confused before 
her eyes, her head swam, and she felt as if she would go 
crazy. She prayed God that He would release her by 
madness or death from the suffering of this hour, or that 
He would point out to her some way of deliverance or es- 
cape. But in the violence of their dispute and combat, 
the two men had not heard that there arose suddenly 
in the house a loud tumult and uproar; they had not 
perceived that a guard of soldiers was drawn up in the 
street, and that the commanding officer with a loud 
voice was demanding the delivery of the cannoneer who 
had taken refuge in this house. 

As no attention was paid to the demand, the officer 
had ordered his soldiers to break open the doors of the 
house and enter by force. But Bertram had anticipated 
this proceeding by having the door opened, and request- 
ing the Austrian officer to search the house with his men, 
and convince himself that no one was concealed in it. 
With most industrious energy, and mindful of the price 
which had been set on the head of the cannoneer, the sol- 
diers searched every room in the house, and had finally 
arrived at the closed door of the hall. 

Just as the combat between the two had reached its 
greatest violence, it was interrupted by fierce blows at the 


122 the MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

door from butts of muskets, and they were compelled to 
refrain from their imbittered struggle. They stopped 
and listened, but Elise sprang from her knees, rushed 
with a cry of delight to the door and threw it open. An 
officer of De Lacy’s chasseurs entered with some of his 
soldiers, while the rest of the men filled the entrance 
hall and passages of the house with noise and con- 
fusion. 

With a commanding tone the Austrian officer de- 
manded the delivery of the cannoneer, who, he asserted, 
had been seen by all to take refuge in this house, whence 
it was impossible that he could have escaped, as it had 
been immediately surrounded. And as no one answered 
his threats, but only a sullen silence was opposed to his 
violently repeated demand, he swore that he would burn 
down the house and let no one escape if the refugee was 
not given up at once. 

Gotzkowsky had at first stood like one stunned, and 
scarcely heard what the officer demanded of him. 
Gradually he began to recover from his stupefaction and 
regain strength to turn his attention to things around 
him. He raised his head from his breast, and, as if 
awaking from a dream, he looked around with bewil- 
dered amazement. The Austrian officer repeated his 
demand still more haughtily and threateningly. Gotz- 
kowsky had now recovered presence of mind and com- 
posure, and declared with a determined voice, that no 
one was concealed in his house. 

“ He is here! ” cried the Austrian. “ Our men have 
followed his track thus far, and marked this house well 
Deliver him up to us, to avoid bloodshed,” and, turning 
to his soldiers, he continued, “ Search all the rooms— 
search carefully. The man is hidden here, and we—” 

Suddenly he interrupted his order, and gazed earnest- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


123 


ly at the door through which his soldiers were press- 
ing in. 

“ Had not this cannoneer, as he fled thither, a white 
cloak around him, and did he not wear a broad-hrimmed 
hat? ” asked he. 

As the soldiers answered affirmatively, the officer 
stepped toward the door, and drew from under the feet 
of his men the cloak and hat of the cannoneer. A wild 
yell of joy broke from the soldiers. 

“ Do you still persist in denying that this man is 
concealed here?” asked the officer, raising the cloak. 

Gotzkowsky did not answer, but gazed on the ground 
absorbed in deep thought. 

As the soldiers thronged into the room, the young 
Russian colonel had withdrawn himself to a remote 
part of the room, and taken the most lively interest in 
the scene acted before him. A word from him would 
have brought the whole affair to an end, for, as an invol- 
untary listener, he had heard all that had transpired 
concerning the cannoneer. Consequently he knew ex- 
actly the hiding-place in which the latter had been con- 
cealed. But it had never come into his mind to play 
the informer and traitor. He was only intensely inter- 
ested in the issue of the scene, and firmly determined, if 
the danger should grow more urgent, to hasten with his 
weapon to Gotzkowsky’s assistance, and to defend him 
against the fury of the Austrians. 

Gotzkowsky still stood silent. He was trying to de- 
vise some plan by which he might save the brave de- 
fender of Berlin, whose presence, after such positive 
proof, he could no longer deny. 

As suddenly as lightning an idea seemed to penetrate 
his mind, his countenance cleared, and he turned with a 
singular expression in his eye to Colonel von Brenda. 


124 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


“ Well! ” asked the officer, “ do you still deny it? ” 

“ No, I cannot deny it any longer,” said he, in a de- 
termined tone. “ You are right, sir; the cannoneer who 
shattered your ranks is here in my house! ” 

The soldiers broke out again in a triumphant roar. 
But Elise looked at her father with anxious terror, and 
sought, trembling, to read in his countenance the mean- 
ing of these words. “ Can he possibly be capable of be- 
traying this man whom he has sworn to protect? ” 
thought Feodor, and yielding to his curiosity he ap- 
proached the group in the middle of the hall. .Sud- 
denly he felt Gotzkowsky’s hand laid on his shoulder, 
and met his dark eye, full of hatred. 

“ Well,” said Gotzkowsky, with a loud, defiant voice, 
“you are looking for the artilleryman, Fritz. Here 
he is! ” 

A scream and a burst of laughter were heard. It 
was Elise who uttered the scream, and the colonel who 
greeted this unexpected turn with a merry laugh. But 
Gotzkowsky did not allow himself to be confused by one 
or the other. 

He laid his arm on Feodor’s neck, and forced his 
countenance to assume a friendly expression. “ Dear 
friend,” said he, “ you see it is vain any longer to deny it. 
Our stratagem has unfortunately failed.” 

“ What stratagem? ” asked the Austrian and Feodor, 
simultaneously. 

Gotzkowsky replied in a sorrowful tone to Feodor: 
“Do not disguise yourself any longer, my son! you see 
it is useless.” Then turning to the officer, he continued : 
“We had hoped that he might escape detection in this 
Russian uniform, left here by the adjutant of General 
Sievers, who was formerly a prisoner of war in my house, 
but unfortunately the hat and cloak have betrayed him.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


125 


Feodor von Brenda looked at Gotzkowsky with ad- 
miring wonder, and this rapidly invented ruse de guerre 
pleased him astonishingly. 

It was a piquant adventure offered him by Gotzkow- 
sky’s hate and cunning, and he did not feel inclined to 
throw away such an original and interesting chance of 
excitement. He, the Russian colonel, and Count von 
Brenda, the favorite of the empress, degraded to a 
Prussian cannoneer, whose life was in danger! His 
wilful and foolhardy imagination was pleased with the 
idea of playing the part of a criminal condemned to 
death. 

“ Well,” asked the Austrian officer, “ do you acknowl- 
edge the truth of this statement, or do you deny being 
the cannoneer, Fritz?” 

“Why should I deny it?” answered Feodor, shrug- 
ging his shoulders. “ This gentleman, who ought to 
have saved me, has already betrayed me. I am the man 
whom you seek! ” 

With a scream of surprise, Elise threw herself toward 
her lover. 

“ No! ” cried she, loudly, “ no, he is — ” 

Her father’s hand pressed heavily on her lips. “ An- 
other word, and you are a murderess! ” whispered he. 

The officer looked suspiciously at them. “ You do 
not deny,” asked he of Feodor, “ that you are he who 
directed such a murderous fire on our lines? You do 
not deny that you are the artilleryman, Fritz, and that 
this cloak and hat belong to you? ” 

“ I deny nothing! ” replied Feodor, defiantly. 

The officer called to some of his men and ordered 
them to shoulder arms, and take the prisoner in their 
midst; enjoining them to keep a sharp watch on him, 
and at the first attempt to escape, to shoot him down. 

9 


126 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


But when he demanded his sword of the colonel, the 
latter recoiled, shocked, and resisted. 

He now became aware of his foolhardiness and rash- 
ness, and that he had not considered or foreseen the dan- 
gerous and perhaps dishonorable consequences. How- 
ever, as he had gone so far, he considered that it would 
be disgraceful and cowardly to retreat now. He was 
also desirous of pursuing to the end this adventure which 
he had begun with so much boldness and daring. He 
drew his sword, and with considerable strength break- 
ing it in pieces, he threw them at the feet of the Austrian 
officer. 

That officer shrugged his shoulders. “Your inso- 
lence will only make your situation worse. Remember, 
you are our prisoner.” 

“ He must and shall die! ” shouted the soldiers, 
thronging around Feodor, angrily. 

The officer ordered silence. “He must die,” said 
he, “that is true; but we must first carry him to the 
general, to obtain the price offered for him.” 

The soldiers surrounded him and shoved him toward 
the door. But Elise broke through the crowd. With 
flashing eyes, and cheeks burning with a feverish excite- 
ment, she rushed toward Feodor. “No!” cried she, 
with all the ardor of love, “no, I will not leave you. 
You are going to your death! ” 

Feodor kissed her lightly on the forehead, and re- 
plied with a smile, “ I fear nothing. Fortune does not 
forsake a brave soldier.” 

He then took her by the hand and led her to her 
father. Gazing on him with a long and speaking look, 
he continued: “Here, Father Gotzkowsky, I bring your 
daughter to you: be a better father to her than you have 
been a friend to me. These are my farewell words.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


127 


He leaned forward as if to give Gotzkowsky a part- 
ing embrace, and whispered to him: “ I hope we are now 
quit! I have atoned for my fault. You will no longer 
wish to punish your daughter for my transgression.” 

He then threw the white cloak around him, and bid- 
ding Elise, who leaned half fainting against her father, 
a tender farewell, he stepped back into the ranks of the 
guard. 

“ Attention! shoulder arms! ” commanded the offi- 
cer; and the Austrians left the hall with closed ranks, 
the prisoner in their midst. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

FATHER GOTZKOWSKY. 

The door had closed behind the soldiers and their 
prisoner. Gotzkowsky and Elise remained behind, si- 
lent and immersed in the deep sorrows of their souls. 
Neither spoke a word; both stood motionless and lis- 
tened. 

They heard the soldiers hurry down the steps; they 
heard the house door violently thrown open, and the 
officer announce in a loud voice to those of his soldiers 
who were waiting in the street, the lucky capture of the 
artilleryman. 

A cry of triumph from the Austrians was the answer; 
then was heard the loud word of command from the 
officer, and the roll of the drum gradually receding in 
the distance until it was no longer audible. Every thing 
was silent. 

“ Have mercy, Father in heaven, have mercy! They 


128 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


are leading him to death ! 99 cried Elise in a heartrend- 
ing tone, and she sank on her knees in prayer. 

“ The brave cannoneer is saved ! 99 murmured Gotz- 
kowsky in a low voice to himself, and he too folded his 
hands in prayer. Was it a prayer of gratitude, or did it 
proceed from the despairing heart of a father? 

His countenance had a bright and elevated expres- 
sion; but as he turned his eyes down on his daughter, 
still on her knees, they darkened, and his features 
twitched convulsively and painfully. His anger had 
evaporated, and his heart was filled with boundless pity 
and love. He felt nothing but painful, sorrowful com- 
passion for this young girl who lay deathly pale and 
trembling with suffering on the floor. His daughter 
was weeping, and . his heart yearned toward her to 
forgive her every thing, to raise her up and comfort 
her. 

Suddenly Elise started up from her knees and strode 
toward her father. There was something solemn and 
imposing in her proud hearing, her extraordinary com- 
posure, which only imperfectly veiled her raging grief 
and passionate excitement. 

“ Father/’ said she solemnly, and her voice sounded 
hoarse and cold, “ may God forgive you for what you 
have done! At this moment, when perhaps he is suffer- 
ing death, I repeat it, I am innocent.” 

This proud composure fell freezingly on Gotzkow- 
sky’s heart, and drove hack all the milder forgiving im- 
pulses. He remembered only the shame and the in- 
jured honor of his daughter. 

“ You assert your innocence, and yet you had a man 
concealed in the night in your bedchamber ! 99 

“ And yet I am innocent, father!” cried Elise 
vehemently. u Read it on my forehead, see it in my 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


129 


eyes, which do not fear to meet yours. I am inno- 
cent! ” 

And completely overpowered by the hitter and des- 
perate anguish of her soul, she continued, still more ex- 
cited, “ But how does all this concern you? It was not 
my honor that you were interested in; you did not seek 
to avenge that. You only wished to punish me for dar- 
ing to assert my freedom and independence, for daring 
to love without having asked your leave. The rich man 
to whom all bend, whom all worship as the priest of the 
powerful idol which rules the world, the rich man sees 
with dismay that there is one being not dazzled by his 
treasures who owns an independent life, a will of her 
own, and a heart that he cannot command. And be- 
cause this being does not of her own accord bow down 
before him he treads it in the dust, whether it he his 
own child or not.” 

“ Elise,” cried Gotzkowsky, shocked, “ Elise, are you 
mad? Do you know that you are speaking to your 
father? ” 

But her tortured heart did not, notice this appeal; 
and only remembering that perhaps at this moment her 
lover was suffering death through her father’s fault, she 
allowed herself to he carried away by the overpowering 
force of her grief.' She met the flashing eye of her 
father with a smile of contempt, and said, coldly: “ Oh 
yes, you may look at me. I do not fear your angry 
glances. I am free; you yourself have absolved me from 
any fear of you. You took from me my lover, and at the 
same time deprived yourself of your child.” 

“ 0 God! ” cried Gotzkowsky in an undertone, “ have 
I deserved this, Father in heaven?” and he regarded 
his daughter with a touching expression. 

But she was inexorable; sorrow had unseated her 


130 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


judgment, and “ Oh! ” cried she in a tone of triumph, 
“ now I will confess every thing to you, how I have suf- 
fered and what I have undergone.” 

“ Elise! ” cried he painfully, “ have I not given you 
every thing your heart could desire? ” 

“Yes ! 99 cried she, with a cruel laugh, “ you fulfilled 
all my wishes, and thereby made me poor in wishes, poor 
in enjoyment. You deprived me of the power of wish- 
ing, for every thing was mine even before I could de- 
sire it. It was only necessary for me to stretch out my 
hand, and it belonged to me. Cheerless and solitary 
I stood amidst your wealth, and all that I touched was 
turned into hard gold. The rich man’s daughter en- 
vied the beggar woman in the street, for she still had 
wishes, hopes, and privations.” 

Gotzkowsky listened to her, without interrupting her 
by a word or even a sigh. Only now and then he raised 
his hand to his forehead, or cast a wandering, doubtful 
look at his daughter, as if to convince himself that all 
that was passing was not a mad, bewildering dream, hut 
painful, cruel reality. 

But when Elise, breathless and trembling with ex- 
citement, stopped for a moment, and he no longer heard 
her cutting accents of reproach, he pressed both hands 
upon his breast, as if to suppress a wail over the annihila- 
tion of his whole life. “ 0 God! ” muttered he in a low 
voice, “ this is unparalleled agony! This cuts into a 
father’s heart! ” 

After a pause, Elise continued! Ci I too was a beggar, 

* and I hungered for the bread of your love.” 

“ Elise, oh, my child, do you not know then that I 
love you infinitely? ” 

But she did not perceive the loving, almost imploring 
looks which her father cast upon her. She could see 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


131 


and think only of herself and her own tormented 
heart. 

“ Yes,” said she, “ you love me as one loves a jewel, 
and has it set in gold in order to make it more 
brilliant. You loved me as a costly ornament of your 
rooms, as something which gave you an opportunity of 
exercising the splendor of your liberality, and to he 
produced as an evidence of your renowned wealth. But 
you did not love me as a father; you did not perceive 
that I wept in secret, or if you did see it, you consoled 
me with diamonds, with rich dresses, to make me smile. 
But you did not give me your father’s heart. At last 
the rich man’s child discovers a happiness not to be 
bought with gold or treasures, a happiness that the mil- 
lions of her father could not purchase for her. This 
happiness is — love. The only possession that I have 
owned, father, contrary to your will, you have deprived 
me of, because it was mine against your will. Now, 
poor rich man, take all your gold, and seek and buy 
yourself a child with it. Me you have lost!” and 
staggering back with a sob, she sank fainting on the 
carpet. 

A dread silence now reigned in the room. Gotz- 
kowsky stood motionless, with his eyes directed toward 
heaven. The cruel, mocking words of his daughter 
sounded over and over again in his ears, and seemed to 
petrify the power of his will and chain him fast, as if 
rooted to the floor. Gradually he recovered from this 
apathy of grief. The stagnant blood revived in his 
veins, and shot like burning streams of fire to his heart. 
He bent over his daughter, and gazing for a long time at 
her, his features assumed a gentler and softer expression. 
Tenderly with his hand he smoothed the tresses from her 
clear, high forehead; and as he did so, he almost smiled 


132 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

again, so beautiful and charming did she seem to him in 
her death-like repose. 

“ She has fainted/’ whispered he, low, as if fearful of 
awakening her. “ So much the better for her; and 
when she recovers, may she have forgotten all the cruel 
words that she has uttered! ” 

He laid his hand on her head as if to bless her, and 
love and forgiveness were expressed in his looks. A 
perfect peace seemed to pervade his whole frame. In 
this moment he forgave her all the pain, all the suffering 
she had caused him. He pardoned her those unjust re- 
proaches and accusations, and with lofty emotion, rais- 
ing his eyes toward heaven, he exclaimed, “ 0 God! thou 
seest my heart. Thou knowest that love alone has pos- 
session of its very depths, love to my child! and my child 
has no faith in me. I have worked — I am rich — I have 
amassed wealth— only for her. I thought of my child 
as I sat at my desk during the long, weary nights, busied 
with difficult calculations. I remembered my daughter 
when I was wearied out and overcome by this laborious 
work. She should be happy; she should be rich and 
great as any princess; for this I worked. I had no time 
to toy or laugh with her, for I was working for her like 
a slave. And this,” continued he with a sad smile, “ this 
is what she reproaches me with. There is nothing in 
which I believe, nothing but my child, and my child does 
not believe in me! The world bows down before me, and 
I am the poorest and most miserable beggar.” 

Overpowered by these bitter thoughts, which crowded 
tumultuously upon his brain, he leaned his head upon 
his hand and wept bitterly. Then, after a long pause, 
he drew himself up erect, and, with a determined ges- 
ture, shook the tears from his eyes. 

“Enough!” said he, loudly and firmly, “enough; 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


133 


my duty shall cure me of all this suffering. That I must 
not neglect.” 

He rang the bell, and ordered the servant-maids, who 
appeared, to raise up the insensible girl and bear her to 
her room. 

But when the maidens called the waiting-man to 
their assistance to raise their mistress, Gotzkowsky 
pushed them all aside, and carried her softly and gently, 
as carefully and tenderly as a mother, to a couch, on 
which he placed her. He then pressed a fervent kiss 
upon her brow. Elise began to move, a faint blush over- 
spread her cheeks, she opened her eyes. Gotzkowsky 
immediately stepped back, and signed to her maids to 
carry her into her room. 

He looked after her until she had disappeared, his 
eyes dimmed with tears. “ My child,” said he, in a low 
voice, “ she is lost to me. Oh, I am a poor, pitiable 
father! ” With a deep groan he pressed his hands to 
his face, and nothing was heard but the painful sobs 
wrung from the heart of this father wrestling with his 
grief. 

Suddenly there arose from without loud lamentations 
and cries for help. They came nearer and nearer, and 
at last reached Gotzkowsky’s house, and filled its halls 
and passages. It was not the outcry of a single person. 
From many voices came the sounds of lamenting and 
weeping, screams and shrieks: 

“Help! help! have pity on us, save us! The Aus- 
trians are hewing us down — they are burning our houses 
— save us! ” 

Gotzkowsky dropped his hands from his face and 
listened. “ What was that ? who cries for help ? ” asked 
he, dreamingly, still occupied with his own sorrows, 
scarcely conscious of the reality. But suddenly he start- 


134 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


ed, and from his eyes beamed life and courage. “ Ah! ” 
cried he aloud, “ mankind is suffering, and I am thinking 
of my own griefs. I know these voices. The wives and 
children of my workmen, the poor and oppressed of the 
city are calling me. The people need me. Up, Gotz- 
kowsky! give them your heart, your life. Endeavor to 
be a father to the unfortunate, and you will not be poor 
in children! ” 

Without the wailing and cries for help continued to 
resound, and the voices of weeping and trembling women 
and plaintive children cried aloud, “ Gotzkowsky, help 
us! have pity on us, Father Gotzkowsky! ” 

“ Father! 99 cried he, raising his head, his counte- 
nance beaming with delight. “ They call me father, and 
yet I complain. Up! to my children who love me, and 
who need my help! 99 


BOOK II. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE TWO EDITORS. 

On the morning succeeding the night of horrors and 
confusion in which Berlin had surrendered to the con- 
queror, the vanguard of the Russians marched into the 
town through the Konig’s Gate. But the commanding 
general, Tottleben, wished to make his triumphal entry 
with his staff and the main body of his army through the 
Kottbuss Gate, and had ordered the magistracy of the 
town to meet him there, and to bring with them a depu- 
tation of the merchants, to determine what contribution 
should be laid upon them. But before the Russian 
general could make his entry, the vanguard of De Lacy’s 
army corps had penetrated into the Frederick Street 
suburb, and were committing the most atrocious acts of 
cruelty in the New Street. With wild yells they entered 
the houses to rob and plunder, ill-treating those who re- 
fused to give up their valuables, and by violent threats 
of incendiarism, raising forced levies from the frightened 
inhabitants. 

But it was not alone this lust of plunder in the sol- 
diers which spread terror and dismay in each house and 
in every family. Count De Lacy possessed a list of those 
persons who, by word, deed, or writing, had declared 
against Austria or Russia, and he gave it to his officers, 
with the order that they should not hesitate at any meas- 

135 


136 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


ures, any threats or acts of violence, to obtain possession 
of these people. Besides which, he promised a consider- 
able reward for each “ traitor ” brought to him; and it 
was therefore no wonder that these officers, with brutal 
and avaricious zeal, had scarcely arrived in the city before 
they commenced the pursuit of these outlaws. With 
fearful yells they rushed into the houses, shouting out 
the names of those on the pursuit of whom they were 
bent, and whose seizure would secure them a golden re- 
ward. 

Naturally enough, the writers and journalists were 
the first on whom the vengeful wrath of the conqueror 
was poured, for it has ever been the lot of authors to 
suffer for the misfortunes of the people, to be made re- 
sponsible for the being and thinking, the will and action 
of the nation to which they belong. But it is only in 
days of misfortune that the responsibility of authors and 
poets commences. They must answer for the ill luck, 
but are never rewarded for the happiness of the nation. 

Three names, especially, did De Lacy’s chasseurs cry 
out with a raging howl for vengeance, through the 
Frederick-Stadt and down the Linden Street, and they 
searched for their owners in every house. 

“De Justi! De Justi! ” — with this cry one of the 
Austrian officers rushed through the street, knocked with 
his sword violently against the closed house doors, and 
demanded with savage threats the delivery of this crimi- 
nal for whose arrest a high premium had been offered. 

M. De Justi was indeed a notorious criminal. Not 
that he had written much cr badly, but principally be- 
cause he had dared to use his sharp pen against the Aus- 
trian empress, and her allies the Russians and Saxons. 
It was especially three pamphlets which excited the 
wrath of the victorious enemy. These pamphlets were 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


137 


called: “ Proof that the Empress should be deposed;” 
“ Why and wherefore Certain Nations in Europe are 
disposed to become Anthropophagous,” and lastly, 
“ Account of the life of Count Briihl.” He had 
offended not only the Austrians, but also the Russians 
and Saxons. It was therefore natural that these 
three powers reigning in Berlin should wish to take 
their revenge on the writer of these insulting pamph- 
lets. 

But De Justi had been prudent enough to escape 
from the pursuit of his revengeful enemies. During 
the siege he had betaken himself to the house of a friend 
in a more secure street, and had hidden in the cellar, 
where it was impossible to find him. As they could 
not get possession of the writer, they , were obliged to 
cool their wrath on his treasonable writings. They were 
dragged in his stead, as prisoners of state and dangerous 
criminals, to headquarters at the New Market. 

The two other writers, whom the Austrians pursued 
with furious zeal, were the two newspaper editors, 
Kretschmer and Krause. These two had no idea of such 
pursuit; indeed, they did not even know that the Aus- 
trians had penetrated into the city. In the safe hiding- 
place in which both of them had passed the night they 
had only learned that Berlin had surrendered to the Rus- 
sians, and that General Tottlehen had ordered the magis- 
trates to receive him the next morning at the Kottbuss 
Gate at eight o’clock. 

It was intended that the reception should he a bril- 
liant and solemn one, and that the general should he 
mollified and conciliated by humble subjection; it was 
also determined to endeavor, by an offering pf money 
made to him individually, to induce him to make the 
contribution laid on the town moderate and light. 


138 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

The news was like a thunder-clap to the two editors, 
for it compelled them to leave their safe hiding-place, 
and to venture out into the dangerous world. For these 
gentlemen, editors of such renowned journals, who 
prided themselves on giving their readers the most re- 
cent and important intelligence, would not dare to be 
absent at the reception of the Russian general. For the 
love of their country they had to forget their own fears, 
and, for the honor of their journals, face danger like true 
heroes. 

Day had scarcely dawned, and deep silence and death- 
like stillness reigned at the Kottbuss Gate. The wings 
of the gate were closed, and the watchman had with- 
drawn into his little box, and was resting from the events 
of the past days. Dawn still lay like a veil over poor, 
anxious Berlin, and concealed her tears and bloodv 
wounds. J 

The silence was suddenly interrupted by the sound of 
approaching footsteps, and around the nearest corner 
glided the cowering figure of a man. He remained still 
for a minute and listened; then, convinced that all 
around him was quiet and silent, he crept along, keep- 
ing anxiously close to the houses, and reached unper- 
ceived the pillar on the right side of the gate, in the dark 
shadow of which he concealed himself. This man was no 
other than Mr. Kretschmer, the editor of the Vossian 
Gazette, who made himself comfortable in his hiding- 
place. & 

“ This is q uite nice and right/’ said he, shoving a 
stone behind the pillar, in order to raise himself to a 
higher point of view. “ From here I can hear and ob- 
serve every thing.” 

So, settling himself on the stone, he leaned back in 
the corner of the door-pillar, as if it were the leathern 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


139 


arm-chair in his sanctum. A comfortable smile stole 
over his features. 

“ This time,” said he, “ at least, I have forestalled 
my rival, good Mr. Krause. To-morrow the Vossian 
Gazette will be the only one which will he able to re- 
port, from actual observation, on the formal entry of the 
Russian general. Oh, how vexed Spener’s will he! 
There is seven o’clock striking. In an hour the cere- 
mony will begin. Spener’s Journal still sleeps, while 
the Vossian Gazette wakes and works, and is alert to 
satisfy the curiosity of Berlin.” 

Poor, benighted editor of the Vossian ! You, in- 
deed, could not see him, but the veil of the dawning day, 
which spread over Berlin, concealed your rival, as well 
as yourself, in its folds. His drawn-up figure was not 
visible to your dimmed sight, as he sneaked along the 
houses, and hid himself behind the pillar on the left 
of the gate. While you were rejoicing over the long 
sleep of Spener’s Journal, its editor, Mr. Krause, was 
standing opposite to you, behind the pillar, whither 
he had come, notwithstanding his sixty-eight years, like 
you, to witness the entrance of the Russians. And happy 
was he in spirit at this victory obtained over his rival, 
the editor of the Vossian Gazette, and it made him very 
proud indeed to think that this once he had forestalled 
Mr. Kretschmer, and consequently would have the mo- 
nopoly of describing in the morning’s paper, to the peo- 
ple of Berlin, the magnificent and pompous entrance of 
the Russians! 

The editor of the Vossian Gazette had no idea of the 
vicinity of his rival. He continued to congratulate 
himself on the advantage he had obtained, and proceeded 
cheerfully in his soliloquy. "It makes me laugh to 
think of Spener’s Journal I, myself, advised Mr. 


140 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Krause to conceal himself, and the good man faithfully 
followed my advice. Perhaps the little old gentleman 
dreams that I am at this moment sitting by my fireside, 
while there is so much matter for my newspaper here. 
Good matter, too, that can be moulded into an interest- 
ing article, is not so common that it can be carelessly 
squandered. Sleep, therefore, sleep, good Spener — the 
Vossian wakes.” 

But Spener did not sleep. He was at the opposite 
pillar, smirking and saying to himself, “ How lucky it is 
that I have anticipated the Vossian /” He then was 
silent, but his thoughts w^ere active, and in* the bottom 
of his heart he instituted some very serious reflections 
upon the superfluousness of a second newspaper, how 
perfectly unnecessary it was in fact. 

“ This Vossian Gazette is perfectly intolerable,” 
thought he. “ There ought to be a law prohibiting the 
publishing of more than one newspaper in each town. 
Then the public would always get reliable new^s, and 
draw its political opinions from one source, which would 
be undoubted, and it would accept as true what we gave 
forth for truth. If the government would follow this 
plan, and allow only one newspaper to each town, and 
conciliate this one with money or patronage, mankind 
would be much happier and more contented, and less 
liable ta be distracted by the most opposite political 
views and information. What profits the existence of 
this Vossian Gazette ? What does it do but rob me of 
my subscribers? By Heavens! I wish the Russian would 
exterminate it thoroughly.” 

While Mr. Krause was thus speaking to himself, Mr. 
Kretschmer had followed the same course of thought, 
and, very naturally, arrived at a similar conclusion. He, 
too, had to confess that SpeneVs Journal was very in- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


141 > 


convenient, and hated its editor from the bottom of his 
heart. In the vehemence of his vexation, he overlooked 
the necessary precaution, and cried out, “ Cursed be this 
rival, this man who has the presumption to imagine he 
can compete with me! ” 

Mr. Krause shuddered at the sound of this voice, 
which seemed to him as it were the echo of his own un- 
spoken thoughts, hut he mastered his alarm, and cried 
aloud, “ Did any one speak? ” “ Did any one speak? ” 

sounded back again, and two heads were seen protruding 
from the pillars on each side of the gate, the eyes in 
them inquiringly peering at each other. The morning 
in the mean while had become lighter, and, with an 
inward shudder, the two gentlemen recognized each 
other. 

“ It is Spener’s! May the devil take him! ” thought 
Mr. Kretschmer. 

“ It is the Vossian! Damn the fellow!” thought 
Mr. Krause. 

But while they thought this to themselves, they 
rushed forward and embraced each other, with greetings 
and assurances of friendship, to all appearances warm 
and sincere. 

“ I am not mistaken! It is my dear friend Krause.” 

“ Oh, what happiness! my dear Kretschmer! ” 

And they shook each other’s hands and repeated their 
asseverations of friendship and esteem, hut, at the same 
time, breathed in their hearts their curses and execra- 
tions. But the two editors were not the only persons 
who had sought the Kottbuss Gate at this early hour. 
An Austrian officer with a guard of soldiers, in his 
search after the two editors, had also reached the spot, 
and was marching with his men from the corner near 
the gate, looking eagerly right and left and up at all 
10 


\ 142 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


the windows. His eye fell upon these two men who 
were shrinking from his sight, uttering pious ejacula- 
tions to Heaven. The officer approached them and de- 
manded their names. Neither answered. The officer 
repeated his question, and accompanied it with such 
threats as convinced Mr. Krause of the imperative neces- 
sity of answering it. He bowed, therefore, respectfully 
to the officer, and pointing to his friend, said, “ This is 
Mr. Kretschmer, the editor of the Vossian Gazette” 

Kretschmer cast upon him a look full of hatred and 
revenge. “ And this,” said he, with a wicked smile, “ is 
Mr. Krause, editor of Spener’s Journal .” 

• An expression of joyous triumph shone in the coun- 
tenance of the officer: “ You are my prisoners, gentle- 
men,” said he, as he beckoned to his soldiers to arrest 
them. 

Pale did Mr. Krause grow as he drew hack a step. 
“ Sir, this must he a mistake. We are quiet, peaceable 
citizens, who have nothing to do with the war, but only 
busy ourselves with our pens.” 

“ Our arrest is contrary to all national law,” cried 
Mr. Kretschmer, at the same time endeavoring to de- 
fend himself from the weapons which were pointed at 
him. 

The officer laughed. “ In war we know no national 
law. You are my prisoners.” And disregarding their 
struggles and cries for help, they dragged the two 
editors as prisoners to the guard-house at the New 
Market. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


143 


CHAPTER II. 

THE CHIEF MAGISTRATE OF BERLIN. 

After a short interval of quiet and lonesomeness at 
the Kottbuss Gate, there appeared, first far down the 
street, then approaching nearer and nearer, a solemn pro- 
cession. Foremost staggered the chief burgomaster, Yon 
Kircheisen, in full uniform, adorned with his golden 
chain, which rustled as it rose and sank with his hurried, 
feverish respiration. He was followed by the second bur- 
gomaster, with the Town Council, and deputation of mer- 
chants, headed by Gotzkowsky. With solemn, serious 
air, these gentlemen took up their position at the gate. 

The chief burgomaster then beckoned Gotzkowsky 
to his side. “ Stand by me, my friend,” said he, with a 
groan, and offering his hand to Gotzkowsky with a 
dismal air. “ I am suffering terribly, and even the two 
bottles of Johannisberger are not sufficient to inspire 
me with courage. Is it not terrible that the honorable 
Council should be obliged to attend in person? It is an 
unheard-of indignity ! 99 

“ Hot only for you, hut for the Berlin citizen is the 
insult equally great,” said Gotzkowsky. 

Herr von Kircheisen shook his head in a most melan- 
choly manner. “ Yes,” said he, “ but the Berlin citizen 
does not feel it so deeply. It does not affect his honor 
as it does that of the magistracy.” 

Gotzkowsky smiled scornfully. “Do you think,” 
asked he, “ that the magistrates possess a different kind 
of honor from that of any citizen of the town? The 
sense of honor is keener among the people than it is 
among the noblest lords.” 


144 : 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


The chief burgomaster frowned. “ These are very 
proud words/’ replied he, with a shrug of his shoul- 
ders. 

“ Pride belongs to the citizen!” cried Gotzkowsky. 
“ But believe me, noble sir, my heart to-day is not as 
proud as my words. It is sore with pain and grief over 
our deep, unmerited degradation.” 

“ Silence, silence! ” whispered the chief magistrate, 
leaning tremblingly on Gotzkowsky’s arm. He heard 
a noise behind the closed gates, and his mind misgave 
him that the dreaded enemy was at hand. 

Suddenly there sounded on the other side of the walls 
the loud notes of a trumpet, and the warder hastened 
to throw open the gate. A rare and motley mixture of 
Russian uniforms now came in sight. There were seen 
Cossacks, with their small horses and sharp lances; body- 
guards, with their gold-adorned uniforms; hussars, in 
their jackets trimmed with costly furs, all crowding in 
in confused tumult and with deafening screams and 
yells, that contrasted strangely with the silence inside 
the gates, with the noiseless, deserted streets, the 
closed windows of the houses, whose inhabitants scorned 
to he witnesses to the triumphal entry of the enemy. 
Only the ever-curious, ever-sight-loving, always-thought- 
less populace, to whom the honor has at times been ac- 
corded of being called “ the sovereign people,” only this 
populace had hurried hither from all the streets of Ber- 
lin to see the entry of the Russians, and to hurrah to the 
conqueror, provided he paraded right handsomely and 
slowly in. And now a deep silence took place in the 
ranks of the enemy; the crowd opened and formed a 
lane, through which rode the Russian General Bachr 
mann and his staff. As he reached the gate he drew in 
his horse and asked, in a loud, sonorous voice, in French, 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


145 


whether the magistrates and deputation of merchants 
were present. 

The chief magistrate felt unable to answer; his knees 
tottered and his teeth chattered convulsively. He could 
only wag his head in silence and point with trembling 
hand to his companions. 

“ Is the merchant, J ohn Gotzkowsky, one of your 
deputation?” asked the general. 

Gotzkowsky stepped out of the crowd and approached 
the general with a proud step. “ I am he, sir.” 

“ I am glad to meet you,” said the general, with a 
gracious smile. “ I bring you greetings from General 
Sievers. He commissioned and ordered me to show you 
all possible favor. If I can he of service to you in any 
possible way, pray command me. I am General von 
Bachmann, and during our presence here have been ap- 
pointed to the command of Berlin.” 

“ Are you a friend of the noble Sievers?” cried 
Gotzkowsky, his countenance beaming with pleasure. 
“ Oh, then, I need fear nothing for this unfortunate 
town, for only a noble, high-minded man can he a friend 
of Sievers. You will have pity on our distress! ” 

“ Tell me wherein I can serve you, and how I can 
oblige you; my word has much influence on our general- 
in-chief, Count Tottleben.” 

Gotzkowsky was silent. 

“ Beg him to make the contribution as small as pos- 
sible,” whispered Kircheisen in Gotzkowsky’s ear. 

But Gotzkowsky took no notice of him. He fixed his 
dark eyes on the general, as if he wished to read his soul. 

“ Speak out,” said the general. “ If it is possible, 
your wish shall he granted.” 

“ Well then, general,” cried Gotzkowsky, “ this is my 
request: Spare the poor and needy of this town. Order 


146 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


your soldiers to be humane, and do not forget mercy. 
Let your warriors neither murder nor plunder; let 
them not deride the defenceless and conquered. Give 
to the world the example of a generous and noble con- 
queror.” 

The general looked into Gotzkowsky’s noble counte- 
nance with increasing astonishment, and his features as- 
sumed a more benevolent expression. “ I give you my 
word that your petition shall be granted,” said he; “ I 
will give my soldiers strict orders, and woe be to him who 
does not obey them! But you have spoken for others, 
and I would like to oblige you personally. Have you 
no request to make for yourself? ” 

“ Oh, yes, indeed!” cried Gotzkowsky, “I beg you 
to allow me to hasten to the Council-hall to report to the 
elders of the citizens your kind promise.” 

General Bachmann nodded affably to him. “ Has- 
ten, then, and return soon.” 

But as Gotzkowsky turned to hasten away, Herr von 
Kircheisen seized him with a convulsive grasp and drew 
him back. “ My God! you are not going to leave me? ” 
he whined out. “ Only think—” 

“ That the brave and noble citizens may lay the gen- 
eral^ words as a balm to their wounds— that is what I 
am thinking of,” cried Gotzkowsky, tearing himself 
loose and hurrying away with rapid strides. 

a And now for you, most worthy burgomaster,” said 
General Bachmann, sternly, “your name, if you 
please? ” 

Yon Kircheisen looked at him gloomily, but made no 
answer. 

The general repeated his question in a louder and 
sterner voice, but the burgomaster still maintained the 
same obstinate silence. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


147 


“ Have you, by some unlucky chance, forgotten your 
name, sir? ” asked the general with a lowering brow. 

The angry, piercing look he fastened on him, seemed 
to awaken the burgomaster from his lethargy. 

“ My name is Kircheisen, Yon Kircheisen,” stam- 
mered he, with a heavy tongue. 

“We came as conquerors, sir,” said General Bach- 
mann; “and it is usual for conquerors to dictate their 
terms before they enter a captured city. In the name 
of our general, Count Tottleben, I have to communi- 
cate to you what sum we demand from you as a war con- 
tribution. This demand amounts to four millions of 
dollars in good money.” 

The burgomaster stared at the general with glazed 
eyes, broke out into a loud laugh, and staggered back on 
the wall of the gate-warder’s house. 

“ I implore you, collect yourself,” whispered the sec- 
ond burgomaster, as he endeavored to support the reel- 
ing, staggering chief. “ Remember our weal or woe 
depends upon you! ” 

Yon Kircheisen grinned an idiotic laugh. “Four 
millions of dollars! ” screamed he aloud. “ Four mil- 
lions of dollars! Hurrah! hurrah for the Russians!” 

The countenance of the general became still more 
threatening, and an angry light flashed from his eye. 
“ Do you dare to mock me? ” asked he, in a harsh tone. 
“ Beware, sir; and remember that you are the con- 
quered, and in our power. I demand from you a de- 
cided answer. You understand my demand, do you 
not?” 

But still he answered not. He stared at General 
Bachmann with a vacant smile, and his head wagged 
from side to side like the pendulum of a clock. 

“ This is disgraceful conduct,” cried the general, 


148 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


u conduct which does little honor to the chief magistrate 
of Berlin. But I warn you, sir, to beware! I have 
promised the poor and suffering my protection, but I 
well know how to punish those who abuse our mag- 
nanimity. If you do not answer me this time, sir, by 
Heaven I will have you carried off under arrest and let a 
court-martial pronounce judgment on you! ” 

The chief magistrate continued dumb. The pale 
and terror-stricken countenances of those present were 
turned toward him. The members of the Council im- 
plored and besought him to put aside this unnatural 
stubbornness. 

Yon Kircheisen answered their pleadings with a 
loud-sounding laugh. He then stared at the general, 
his features worked and struggled, writhed, and finally 
he opened his mouth. 

“Ah! God he praised, he is going to speak,” cried 
the second burgomaster. 

But no, he did not speak; he only distorted his face. 
A cry of dismay sounded from the lips of the deputation, 
a cry of anger from the Russian general, who, turning to 
his adjutant, ordered him immediately to arrest the bur- 
gomaster and carry him off. And now there arose an in- 
describable scene of confusion and terror. Pale with 
fright, the Council and deputation of merchants had 
flocked around Yon Kircheisen to protect him from the 
advancing soldiers who sought to arrest him, while he, in 
the midst of all the horror and tumult, continued to gig- 
gle and make grimaces. The enraged soldiery had already 
commenced to push aside Kircheisen’s defenders with 
blows from the butts of their muskets, when a man made 
his way through the crowd. It was Gotzkowsky, who, 
with a loud and full voice, demanded the cause of this 
singular uproar. A hundred voices were ready to answer 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


149 


him, and explain the scene in confused, unintelligible 
jargon. 

But General Bachmann beckoned him to his side. 
“ Tell me, sir, is this chief burgomaster a fool or a drunk- 
ard, or is he, indeed, so demented as to intend to 
mock us? ” 

As Gotzkowsky looked at the deathly pale, convulsed 
countenance of the magistrate, who renewed his shrill, 
screeching laugh, he comprehended the racking and ter- 
rible torture which the unfortunate man was suffering. 
He hastened to him, seized him by the arm, and led the 
tottering figure toward the general. 

“ This man is neither a fool nor a madman, your 
excellency; suffering has robbed him of speech, and he 
laughs, not in derision, hut from the convulsion of 
intense sorrow:” 

And as the offended and angry general would not 
believe him, and commanded his soldiers anew to arrest 
the burgomaster, and the soldiers with renewed rage 
■pressed on him, Gotzkowsky placed himself before him, 
and protected him with his proud and respect-inspiring 
person. 

“ General Bachmann,” cried he, warmly, “ I remind 
you of your oath. You vowed to me to protect the 
suffering. Well, then, this man is a sufferer, a sick 
man. I demand, from the noble friend of General Siev- 
ers, that he have compassion on the sick man, and allow 
him to he escorted safely and unmolested to his 
house.” 

“ Can you give me your word that this man did not 
act thus out of arrogance?” asked the general, in a 
milder tone; “ are you convinced that he is sick?” 

“ I swear to you, please your excellency, that the 
chief magistrate of Berlin has never been a healthy man; 


150 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


that, for many years, he has been subject to fits of con- 
vulsive laughter.” 

General Bachmann smiled. “ This is an unfortu- 
nate disease for the chief magistrate of a city,” said he, 
“ and it seems to me as if the citizens of Berlin did 
wrong in choosing for their burgomaster a man who 
laughs and cries indifferently, and to whom the misfor- 
tunes of his fellow-citizens apparently serves only for 
a joke. But you reminded me of my promise, and you 
shall see that I will keep it.” 

He beckoned to his soldiers, and ordered them to 
fetch a litter on which to carry the sick burgomaster 
home. He then turned, with a smile, to Gotzkowsky, 
and said: “ Sir, the Council of Berlin have cause to be 
grateful to you; you have saved their chief from death.” 

Herr von Kircheisen did not laugh now. His fea- 
tures jerked and distorted themselves still, but a stream 
of tears gushed from his eyes. 

With an unspeakable expression he seized Gotzkow- 
sky’s hand, and pressed it to his lips, then sank uncon- 
scious in the arms of his deliverer. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE RUSSIAN, THE SAXON, AND THE AUSTRIAN, IN 
BERLIN. 

Berlin was now given up to the enemy, and through 
the once cheerful and pleasant streets could be heard 
nothing but screams and shrieks of terror, mingled with 
the wild curses and boisterous laughter of the conqueror, 
who, not satisfied with attacking the trembling inhabi- 
tants to rob them of their possessions and property, ill 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


151 


treated them out of sheer cruelty, and took delight in 
hearing their screams and looking at the contortions 
caused by pain. 

And who was this enemy, who, in scorn of all human- 
ity and civilization, tortured the unfortunate and hunted 
them down? 

They were not Russians, nor wild hordes of Cossacks. 
They were Austrians and Saxons, who, robbing and 
plundering, murdering and destroying, violating and 
burning, rushed through Berlin, filling all the inhabi- 
tants with terror and alarm. 

General Bachmann kept faithfully the promise he 
had made to Gotzkowsky, and the Russian army at first 
not only preserved the strictest discipline, but even pro- 
tected the inhabitants against the violence of the Aus- 
trians and Saxons. 

The terrified citizens had one powerful and benefi- 
cent friend — this was John Gotzkowsky. Yielding to 
his urgent entreaty,' General von Bachmann’s adjutant, 
Yon Brinck, had taken up his quarters in his house, 
and by his assistance and his own influence with the 
general, Gotzkowsky was enabled to afford material aid 
to all Berlin. For those citizens who were able to pay 
the soldiers he procured a Russian safeguard, and more 
than once this latter protected the inhabitants of the 
houses against the vandalism of the Austrians and 
Saxons. 

Contrary to the wish of the Russians, the Austrians 
had forced themselves into the city, and, in spite of the 
terms of the capitulation agreed upon with the Russians, 
had quartered themselves upon the citizens, from whom, 
with the most savage cruelty and threats of ingenious 
torture, they extorted all the gold and jewels they pos- 
sessed. 


152 the MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

Berlin was now the open camping-ground of Croats, 
and Austrian hussars, and Russian Cossacks, and all 
minds were filled with dread and anxiety. 

It is true that even the Cossacks forgot the strict dis- 
cipline which had been commanded them, and entered 
the houses, robbing and compelling the inhabitants, by 
blows of the knout, to give them all they wanted. But 
yet they were less cruel than the Saxons, less barbarous 
than the Austrians, who, with scoffing and derision, 
committed the greatest atrocities. Indeed, it was only 
necessary to complain to the Russian general in order 
to obtain justice immediately, and have the Cossacks 
punished. Eight of them were strung up in one day at 
the guard-house on the New Market square, as a warning 
and example to the others, and expiated their robberies 
by a summary death. But with the Austrians and Sax- 
ons it was the officers themselves who instigated the sol- 
diers to acts of revolting barbarity, and who, forgetful 
of all humanity, by their laughter and applause excited 
their subordinates to fresh ill-treatment of the inhabi- 
tants. Disregarding the capitulation, and listening to 
their national enmity, and their love of plunder, they 
pressed forward with wild screams into the royal stables, 
driving away the safeguard of four-and-twenty men, 
which General von Tottlehen had placed there for their 
protection, and with shameless insolence defiling the 
Prussian coat-of-arms pictured on the royal carriages. 
They then drew them out into the open street, and, after 
they had stripped them of their ornaments and decora- 
tions, piled them up in a great heap and set them on fire, 
in order to add to the fright and terror of the bewildered 
citizens by the threatening danger of conflagration. 

High blazed the flames, consuming greedily these 
carriages which had once borne kings and princes. The 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


153 


screams and fright of the inmates of the nearest houses, 
and the crackling of the window-glass broken by the 
heat, were drowned by the joyous shouts of the Aus- 
trians, who danced round the fire with wild delight, and 
accompanied the roaring of the flames with insulting 
and licentious songs. And the fire seemed only to 
awaken their inventive powers, and excite them to fresh 
deeds of vandalism. After the fire had burnt out, and 
only a heap of ashes told of what were once magnificent 
royal vehicles, the Austrians rushed back again into the 
building with terrific outcry, to the apartments of the 
royal master of the horse, Schwerin, in order to build 
a new bonfire with his furniture, and fill their pockets 
with his gold and silver ware. 

In the royal stalls a great uproar arose, as they 
fought with each other for the horses that were there. 
The strongest leaped on them and rode off furiously, to 
carry into other neighborhoods the terror and dismay 
which marked the track of the Austrians through Berlin. 
Even the hospitals were not safe from their brutal rage. 
They tore the sick from their beds, drove them with 
scoffs and insults into the streets, cut up their beds, and 
covered them over with the feathers. And all this was 
committed not by wild barbarians, but by the regular 
troops of a civilized state, by Austrians, who were spurred 
on, by their hatred of the Prussians, to deeds of rude 
cruelty and beastly barbarity. And this unlucky na- 
tional hatred, which possessed the Austrian and made 
him forgetful of all humanity, was communicated, like 
an infectious plague, to the Saxons, and transformed 
these warriors, who were celebrated for being, next to 
the Prussians, the most orderly and best disciplined, 
into rude Jack Ketches and iconoclastic Vandals. 

In the royal pleasure-palace at Charlottenburg, where 


154 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

BrilhRs (Saxon) dragoons had taken up their quarters 
by force, they set up a new species of dragoonade, which 
was directed not so much against the living as against 
marble statues and the sacred treasures of art. All the 
articles of splendor, brilliancy, and luxury which had 
been heaped up here, every thing which the royal love 
of the fine arts had collected of what was beautiful 
and rare, was sacrificed to their raging love of destruc- 
tion. Gilded furniture, Venetian mirrors, large porce- 
lain vases from Japan, were smashed to pieces. The 
silk tapestry was torn from the walls in shreds, the doors 
inlaid with beautiful wood-mosaic were broken up with 
clubs, the most masterly and costly paintings were cut 
in ribbons with knives. To be sure, it sometimes hap- 
pened that the officers rescued from the soldiers some 
costly vase, sojpe rare treasure or painting, and saved it 
from destruction, but this was not to save the King of 
Prussia’s property, but to appropriate it to themselves, 
and carry it home with them. 

Even the art-collection of Count Polignac, embrac- 
ing the most splendid and rare treasures of art in the 
palace of Charlottenburg, did not escape this mania of 
destruction. This collection, containing among other 
things the most beautiful Greek statues, had been pur- 
chased in Rome by Gotzkowsky, and had afforded the 
king peculiar gratification, and was a source of much 
enjoyment to him. In the eyes of some Saxon officers, 
to whom this fact was known, it was sufficient reason for 
its condemnation. They themselves led the most violent 
and destructive of their soldiers into the halls where 
these magnificent treasures were exposed, even helped 
them to break the marble statues, to dash them down 
from their pedestals, to hew off their heads, arms, and 
legs, and even carried their systematic malice so far 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


155 


as to order the soldiers to grind into powder the frag- 
ments, so as to prevent any restoration of the statues at 
a subsequent period. 

The unfortunate inhabitants of Charlottenburg wit- 
nessed all this abomination that was perpetrated in the 
royal palace with fear and trembling, and in order to 
save their own persons and property from similar out- 
rage, they offered the enemy a contribution of fifteen 
thousand dollars. The Saxons accepted the money, but, 
regardless of every obligation usually considered sacredly 
binding, they only became more savage and ferocious. 
With yells of rage they rushed into the houses, and, 
when the money they demanded was refused them, they 
stripped the men of their clothes, lashed them until the 
blqod flowed, or cruelly wounded or maimed them with 
sabre-cuts; and when the women fled from them, they fol- 
lowed them up, and forced them by brutal ill-treatment 
to yield themselves. No house in Charlottenburg escaped 
being plundered; and so cruel were the tortures which the 
inhabitants suffered, that four of the unfortunate men 
died a miserable death at the hands of the Saxon soldiers. 

They were Germans who waged against their brother 
Germans, against their own countrymen, a brutality 
and barbarous love of destruction almost unequalled in 
the annals of modern history. Consequently it seemed 
but natural that the Russians should be excited by such 
examples of barbarity, so unstintedly set them by the 
Austrians and Saxons. No wonder that they, too, at last 
began to rob and plunder, to break into houses at night, 
and carry off women and maidens by force, in order to 
have them released next day by heavy ransom; and that 
even the severe punishments, inflicted on those whom 
the people had the courage to complain of to the gen- 
erals, lost their terror, and were no restraint on these 


156 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


sons of the steppes and ice-fields, led away as they were 
by the other ruffians. 

Two hundred and eighty-two houses were destroyed 
and thoroughly plundered in Berlin by the Austrians; 
the Saxons had devastated the royal palace in Charlot- 
tenburg, and the whole town. Should not the Russians 
also leave a memorial of their vandalism? They did 
so in Schonhausen, the pleasure-palace of the consort 
of Frederick the Great, who had left it a few days previ- 
ous, by express command of the king, to take up her 
residence in Magdeburg. Eight Russian hussars forced 
themselves into the palace, and, with terrible threats, 
demanded the king’s plate. Only the castellan and his 
wife, and a few of the royal servants, had been left be- 
hind to protect the place, and the only answer they could 
make to the furious soldiers was, that the booty which 
they were in search of had been carried with the royal 
party to Magdeburg. This information excited their 
fury to the highest pitch. Like the Saxon dragoons of 
Charlottenburg, they devastated the Schonhausen pal- 
ace, stripped the castellan and his wife, and, with shouts 
of wild laughter, whipped them and pinched their flesh 
with red-hot tongs. And, as if the sight of these bloody 
and torn human bodies had only increased their desire 
for blood and torture, they then attacked the two ser- 
vants, stripped them of their clothes, cut one to pieces 
like a beast, and threw the other on the red-hot coals, 
roasting him alive, as formerly the warriors of her Most 
Christian Majesty of Spain did those whom, in the pride 
of their civilization, they denominated “the wild 
heathen.” * 

* The account of all these cruelties and this vandalism is veri- 
fied in the original, by reference to Von Archenholz : “ History of 
the Seven Years’ War,” pp. 194-198 .--Translator. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


157 


CHAPTER IY. 

THE CADETS. 

The day following the occupation of Berlin, a 
strange and singular procession moved down the Linden 
Street through the Brandenburg Gate, and took the road 
to Charlottenburg. BriihPs dragoons and De Lacy’s 
chasseurs rode on each side of the line, which would have 
excited laughter, if pity and sorrow had not overcome 
the comical element. It was a procession of children 
decked in uniform, and having nothing military about 
them but their apparel, nothing manly but the dress- 
sword at their side. 

This singular little regiment was the “ Corps of 
Cadets,” which had been made prisoners of war by the 
Austrians and Saxons. 

The commandant, Yon Rochow* did not imagine 
that the enemy would carry his hard-heartedness to such 
an extent as to consider these lads of tender age as part 
of the garrison, and make them prisoners of war in con- 
sequence. None of these hoys exceeded the age of twelve 
years (the larger and older ones having been drafted into 
the army to supply the want of officers), and he pre- 
sumed that their very helplessness and weakness would 
he their security, and therefore had omitted to mention 
them specially in the surrender. But the conqueror 
had no compassion on these little children in uniform, 
and pronounced them prisoners of war. Even Lilipu- 
tian warriors might he dangerous! Remember the pangs 
suffered by Gulliver, as, lying quietly on the ground, 
he was suddenly awakened by a violent discharge poured 
into him from behind the high grass by the Liliputians. 

11 


158 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

To be sure their weapons were only armed with needles 
— whence we may infer that the Liliputians. are the 
original inventors of the modern Prussian needle-per- 
cussion rifles — but, one can be killed by needle-pricks. 
Count De Lacy feared, perhaps, the needle weapons of 
the little Liliputian cadets, and treated the poor, deli- 
cate, tender children as if they were tough old veterans, 
accustomed to all the hardships and privations of war. 
With coarse abuse and blows from the butt of the mus- 
ket, they were driven out into the highway, and com- 
pelled to travel on the soft, muddy roads without cloaks, 
notwithstanding the severe weather, and only the short 
jackets of their uniforms. Heart-rending was the wail 
of the poor little ones from whom the war had taken 
their fathers, and poverty their mothers — torn from 
their home, the refuge of their orphaned childhood, to 
be driven like a flock of bleating lambs out into the 
desert wilderness of life. 

And when theft* feet grew weary, when their little 
bodies, unaccustomed to fatigue, gave way, they were 
driven on with blows from sabres and the butts of mus- 
kets. When they begged for a piece of bread, or a drop 
of water for their parched lips, they were laughed at, 
and, instead of water, were told to drink their own tears, 
which ran in streams down their childish cheeks. They 
had already marched the whole day without food or re- 
freshment of any kind, and they could hardly drag their 
bleeding feet along. With eyes bright with fever, and 
parched tongues, they still wandered on, looking in the 
distance for some friendly shelter, some refreshing 
spring. 

At nightfall the little cadets were camped in an open 
field, on the wet ground. At first, they begged for a 
little food, a crust of bread; but when they saw that 


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159 


their sufferings gave pleasure to the dragoons, and that 
their groans were to them like a pleasant song, they 
were silent, and the spirit of their fathers reigned upper- 
most in the breasts of these little, forsaken, trembling 
lads. They dried their eyes, and kept their complaints 
in their little trembling hearts. 

“We will not cry any more,” said little Ramin, 
who, though only twelve years of age, was yet the oldest 
of the captives, and recognized as their captain and 
leader. “ We will not cry any more, for our tears 
give pleasure to our enemies. Let us be cheerful, and 
that perhaps will vex them. To spite them, and show 
how little we think of our hunger, let us sing a jolly 
song.” 

“ Come on, let us do it! ” cried the boys. “ What 
song shall we sing? ” 

“ Prince Eugene ,” cried young Ramin; and imme- 
diately with his childish treble struck up “ Prince Eu- 
gene, the noble knight.” 

And all the lads joined in with a sort of desperate 
enthusiasm, and the song of the noble knight rose from 
their young lips like a peal of rejoicing. 

But gradually one little trembling voice after another 
fell, by degrees the song grew lower and shriller, and be- 
came lost in a trembling whisper; then it would rise into 
an unnatural and terrified scream, or sink into a whin- 
ing sob or trembling wail. 

Suddenly little Ramin stopped, and a cry of pain, 
like the sound of a snapped string, burst from his breast. 
“ I cannot sing any more,” sighed he. “ Hunger is kill- 
ing me.” And he sank down on his knees, and raised 
his little arms beseechingly to one of the Austrian sol- 
diers, who was marching beside him, comfortably con- 
suming a roast chicken. 


160 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


“ Oh! give me a bit of bread, only a mouthful, to 
keep me from starving to death.” 

“ Have pity on us, do not let us starve! ” 

With similar piteous lamentations, the whole corps 
of trembling, weeping, starving little cadets threw them- 
selves on their knees, and filled the air with their cries 
and prayers. 

“ Well, if you positively insist upon eating, you shall 
have something to appease your hunger,” said the officer 
who commanded the chasseurs, and he whispered a few 
words to his corporal, who received them with a loud 
laugh, and then rode off. 

“ Now, be quiet, and wait,” commanded the Aus- 
trian officer. “ I have sent the corporal and some 
soldiers into the village to get food for you. Only 
wait now, and be satisfied.” And the children dried 
their eyes, and comforted each other with encouraging 
words. 

With what impatience, what painful longing, did they 
look forward to the promised food! How they thanked 
God, in the gladness of their hearts, that He had had 
pity on them, and had not allowed them to die of 
hunger! 

They all seemed revived, and strained their hopeful 
eyes toward the quarter whence the corporal was to re- 
turn. And now, with one voice, they broke out into a 
cry of joy; they had espied him returning, accompanied 
by soldiers who seemed to be bringing a heavy load. 

They approached nearer and nearer. “ Form a 
ring,” commanded the officer, and they obeyed in expect- 
ant gladness; and around the thickly crowded ring the 
Austrian officers and the troop of soldiers took their 
stand. In silent waiting stood the cadets, and their 
hearts leaped for joy. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


161 


“ Attention! your dinner is coming,” cried the 
officer. 

The ring opened. Ah! now the corporal and the 
soldiers are going to bring in the dinner. 

But no! The dinner came walking along by itself. 
With a dignified step it marched in and gave utterance 
to an expressive bleat. It was a live sheep, which was 
to be given to the poor lads who were faint from hunger. 
An outburst of boisterous laughter from the Austrians 
greeted the dignified wether, and drowned the cries of 
the bitterly disappointed cadets. 

“A sheep!” they cried, “ and what are we to do 
with it? ” — and they began to weep afresh. 

“ Kill him and roast him! ” jeered the officer. “ You 
are brave soldiers. Well, you will only have to do what 
we often do in camp. Be your own cook and butler; 
none of us will help you. We want to see what sort 
of practical soldiers you will make, and whether you 
are as good hands at cooking as at crying and blubber- 
ing.” 

And the Austrians folded their arms, and looked on 
idly and with derisive satisfaction at these poor children 
who stood there with their heads bowed down with help- 
lessness and grief. 

At length little Ramin arose. His eyes glistened 
with fierce defiance, and an expression of noble cour- 
age illuminated his pale countenance. 

“ If the sheep belongs to us,” said he, “ we will eat 
him.” 

“ But he’s alive,” cried the boys. 

“ We will kill him,” answered the little fellow. 

“We? we ourselves? We are no butchers. We 
have never done such a thing! ” 

“ Have we ever killed a man? ” asked Ramin, rolling 


162 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


his large bright eyes around the circle of his comrades. 
“ Have we ever deprived a man of his life? ” 

“No!” 

"Well, then, we will have it yet to do! We hope 
to be able to kill many an enemy, and to do that we will 
have to begin with some one. Let us make believe, then, 
that this wether is the enemy, and that- we have to at- 
tack him. Now, then, down upon him! ” 

“ Ramin is right,” cried the boys; “ let us attack the 
enemy.” 

“ Attention! ” commanded Ramin. 

The boys drew themselves up in military order right 
opposite the bleating sheep. 

“ Draw swords! ” 

In the twinkling of an eye they had drawn their 
little rapiers, which looked more like penknives than 
swords, and which the Austrians had left to their little 
prisoners of war. 

“ One, two, three! ” commanded the little Ramin. 
“ Attention! Forward! ” 

Down they charged upon the enemy, who was stand- 
ing motionless, with staring eyes, bleating loudly. The 
Austrian soldiers roared and screamed with delight, and 
confessed, with tears in their eyes, that it was the best 
joke in the world, and no end of fun to see these poor 
boys made desperate by hunger. 

The first feat of arms of the little cadets was com- 
pleted, the wether was slain. But now came the ques- 
tion how to dress him, how to convert the dead beast into 
nice warm roast meat. 

They were well aware that none of the laughing, 
mocking soldiers would help them, and therefore they 
disdained to ask for help. Wood, a roasting-pit, and a 
kettle were given them — means enough to prepare a 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


163 


good soup and roast. But how to begin and set about 
it they themselves hardly knew. But gnawing hunger 
made them inventive. Had they not often at home 
skinned many a cunningly caught mole — had they not 
often killed and drawn a rabbit? The only difference 
was that the sheep was somewhat larger than a mole or 
a rabbit. 

Finally, after much toil and trouble, and under the 
approving laughter of the spectators, they accomplished 
it. The meat simmered in the kettle, watched by two 
cadets, two others turning the spit. The work was done; 
the sheep was converted into soup and roast. 

And because they showed themselves so industrious 
and cheerful, one and another of the soldiers softened 
their hearts and threw them a piece of bread or a can- 
teen; and the poor hoys accepted these alms thrown at 
them with humble gratitude, and no feeling of resent- 
ment or defiance remained in their hearts, for hunger 
was appeased; hut appeased only for the moment — only 
to encounter new sufferings, renewed hunger, fresh 
mockeries. For onward, farther onward must they wan- 
der. Every now and then one of them sank down, beg- 
ging for pity and compassion. But what cared the sol- 
diers, who only saw in the children the impersonation 
of the hated enemy, to he tortured and worried to death 
as a sport? 

More than twenty of these little cadets succumbed 
to the sufferings of this journey, and died miserably, for- 
saken and alone, on the high road; and no mother was 
there to. close their eyes, no father to lean over them and 
bless them with a tear. But over these poor martyr- 
children watched the love of God, and lulled them to 
sleep with happy dreams and gentle fancies about their 
distant homes, their little sister there, or the beautiful 


164 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


garden in which they had so often chased butterflies to- 
gether. And amidst such fancies and smiling memories 
they dreamed away their childish souls, beyond the 
grave, to a holy and happy reawakening. 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE EXPLOSION. 

General yon Tottleben was alone in his chamber 
— at least he had no visible company; hut two invisible 
companions were there — Care and Sorrow. They whis- 
pered to him uncomfortable and melancholy thoughts, 
■making his countenance serious and sad, and drawing 
deep and dark lines across his brow. He was a German, 
and was fighting in the ranks of the enemy against his 
German fatherland. Therein lay the secret of his care- 
worn features, the reading of the suppressed sighs; the 
broken, sorrowful words which he uttered, as with folded 
arms and bowed head he paced up and down his room. 
He was a German, and loved his country, which had re- 
paid his love with that apathy and non-appreciation that 
have destroyed and killed some of the greatest and 
noblest men of Germany; while others have taken refuge 
in foreign countries, to find there that recognition which 
was denied them at home. General von Tottleben was 
only a German — why, then, should Germany take no- 
tice of him? Because he possessed information, talent, 
genius. Germany would have appreciated these if Yon 
Tottleben had been a foreigner; but, as unfortunately 
he was only a German, Germany took no notice of him, 
and compelled him to seek in a foreign country the road 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


1C5 

to fame and distinction. He had gone to Russia. There 
his talents had been prized and employed. He was now 
a general in the Russian army, and the alliance between 
Russia and Austria compelled him to fight against his 
own country. 

But the Russian general still preserved his German 
heart, this heart so strong in suffering, so unfaltering in 
its faith, so faithful in its love, so great in hope, humble 
in its obedience, modest in its desires; this German 
heart of his was the cause of much suffering to him, for 
it could not adapt itself to his Russian instructions, and 
despite his efforts to render it callous, would insist upon 
overflowing with pity and sympathy. He loved Berlin, 
for in this city he had passed the best years of his youth. 
And now he was called on to act as a cruel tyrant, 
an unfeeling barbarian, to sow broadcast death and 
destruction in this city, from which he yearned so to win 
a little love, a little sympathy for her rejected son. 

But now his German heart was forced into silence 
by the exigencies of Russian discipline, and the general 
had to obey the orders of his superior officer, General von 
Fermore. His chief had ordered him to exercise the 
utmost severity and harshness, and imposed upon him 
the task of scourging Berlin like a demon of vengeance. 
And yet Berlin had committed no other crime than that 
of remaining faithful to her king, and of not wishing tp 
surrender to the enemy. 

A fresh dispatch had just arrived from General von 
Fermore,’ and its contents had darkened the brow of 
Tottlehen with anxious care. He had received orders to 
blow up the arsenal in Berlin. This noble and hand- 
some building, which rose in proud splendor in the midst 
of a populous town, was to he destroyed without refer- 
ence to the fact that the blowing up of this colossal 


1GG 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


edifice would scatter death and ruin throughout unfor- 
tunate Berlin. 

“ I will not do it,” said he, pacing up and down the 
room, and crushing the accursed paper which brought 
the cruel order in his clinched hand. “ I cannot be such 
a barbarian. Fermore may command me to do bar- 
barous actions, hut I will not accept such commands! 
I will not obey! No one but myself knows of this order. 
I will ignore it. The Empress Elizabeth has always been 
very gracious toward me, and will forgive me for not 
executing an order which certainly never proceeded 
from her own kind heart.” At this moment the door 
opened, and the adjutant entering, announced Count de 
Lacy. 

Tottleben’s countenance assumed a gloomy expres- 
sion, and, as with hasty step he advanced toward the 
Austrian general, he muttered to himself, “ I perceive 
the bloodhounds have got the scent, and are eager for 
blood.” In the mean time Count de Lacy approached 
him with a friendly and gracious smile. He seemed not 
to he at all aware that Tottleben did not accept the 
hand which the Austrian general held out to him with a 
hearty greeting. 

“ I come to chat for a short quarter of an hour with 
your excellency,” said Count de Lacy, in very fluent 
German, hut with the hard foreign accent of a Hunga- 
rian. “ After a battle won, I know nothing pleasanter 
than to recall with a comrade the past danger, and to 
revel again in memory the excitement of the fight.” 

“ May I request your excellency to remember that the 
Austrians cannot count the conquest of Berlin in the list 
of their victories,” cried Count Tottleben, with a sarcas- 
tic smile. “ It was the Russian army which besieged 
Berlin, and Berlin surrendered to us” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


167 


“ You are very kind to remind me of it,” said Count 
de Lacy, with his unchangeable, pleasant smile. “In 
the mean time may I request a more particular explana- 
tion than this polite reminder? ” 

“ You shall have it, sir,” cried Tottleben, passionate- 
ly. “ I mean to say that Berlin is not Charlottenburg, 
and to request that the vandalism which the Austrian 
troops practised there, may not be transferred to Berlin. 
Be satisfied with the booty which your soldiers stowed 
away in their knapsacks at that place, and have the kind- 
ness to order the Austrian army to learn a little dis- 
cipline and humanity from the Russians.” 

“From the Russians?” asked Count de Lacy, with 
ironical astonishment. “ Truly one is not accustomed 
to learn humanity from that quarter. Does your excel- 
lency mean to say that the Austrians are to learn good 
manners from the Russians?” 

“ Yes, from the Russians,” replied Tottleben — 
“ from my soldiers, who neither plunder nor rob, but 
bear in mind that they are soldiers, and not thieves! ” 

“ Sir,” cried De Lacy, “ what do these words mean? ” 
“ They mean that I have promised my protection to 
the people of Berlin, and that I am prepared to afford it 
to them, even against our own allies. They mean that I 
have made myself sufficiently strong to bid you defiance, 
sir, and to defend Berlin against the cruelty and inhu- 
manity of the Austrian army. The Russian army will 
compel it to be humane, and to pause in the cruel rage 
with which they have desolated unhappy Germany.” 

Count de Lacy shrugged his shoulders. “What is 
Germany to you, and why do you feel for her? ” asked 
he jeeringly. “ I beg you, count, let us not speak of 
Germany. What to us is this lachrymose, fantastic 
female Germania, which has been betrothed to so many 


168 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


lords and wooers, that she can remain faithful and true 
to none? Germania will then only he happy when one 
of her lovers has the boldness to kill off and tread under 
foot all his rivals and so build himself up an undisputed 
throne. That is Austria’s mission, and our duty is to 
fulfil it. We are the heralds who go before Germania’s 
Austrian bridegroom, and everywhere illuminate the 
heavens with the torches of our triumphs. If the torches 
now and then come too near some piece of humanity and 
set it on fire, what is that to us? Germany is our enemy, 
and if we have a puling compassion on our enemy, we 
become traitors to our own cause. That’s all. But what 
is the use of this strife and these recriminations? ” asked 
he, suddenly breaking into a smile. “ I have only come 
to ask your excellency when you intend to light these 
new wedding-torches which are to redden the sky of Ber- 
lin?” 4 

“ What wedding-torches? ” inquired Tottlehen, turn- 
ing pale. 

“ Well, those which are to hurst out from the mint 
and factory buildings,” said De Lacy, with a smile of 
indifference. “ I anticipate with extraordinary pleasure 
this exhibition of fireworks which the town of Berlin is 
going to give in honor of our presence.” 

“ You mean to say in disgrace of our presence,” ex- 
claimed Tottlehen, ardently. 

Count de Lacy looked at him with a compassionate 
shrug of the shoulders. “ My dear count,” said he, with 
cutting coldness, “ when a man becomes a Russian gen- 
eral, he must have a Russian heart, and not allow himself 
to he influenced by any German softness or sympathy. 
Otherwise it might happen that they might make a mis- 
take, and not being able to deprive you of your German 
heart, might take your German head instead.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 169 

General Tottleben drew back with astonishment, and 
stared at him. 

Count de Lacy continued, smiling, and in a quiet 
tone: “ I warn you to guard against your own mildness 
and your German heart. General Fermore is my friend, 
and often consults me about the meaning of German 
words. How would you like it if I should explain the 
word treason, in a manner dangerous to yourself, and if 
this explanation should result in translating your excel- 
lency into Siberia?” 

“ General Fermore is neither my commander nor my 
master,” cried Tottleben, proudly. 

“ But the lord and master of your lady and mistress, 
the high and mighty Empress Elizabeth — remember 
that. Will your excellency now condescend to inform 
me at what time the Berlin armory shall rise fluttering 
in the air like a bird? ” 

“And do you know that, too?” asked Tottleben, 
with painful astonishment. 

“ I have already told you that the Eussians and Aus- 
trians are faithful allies, and have no secrets from each 
other, as far as their designs upon Germany are con- 
cerned. Oh, it will be a splendid feu de joie for the house 
of Austria, when the Prussian armory is blown into the 
air! When are we to enjoy this spectacle, general? ” 

General von Tottleben sank his head in silence on his 
breast. Count de Lacy regarded him with a cold and 
piercing glance. Tottleben felt this look, and under- 
stood its important significance. He knew that his 
whole future, his freedom, perhaps even his life, hung 
upon this moment. 

“In three hours from now the spectacle will take 
place,” said he, with a forced laugh. “In three hours 
the wedding-torches shall be lighted, and in order to 


170 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

make it the pleasanter, we will have the wails of the 
people of Berlin as a musical accompaniment.” 

“ In three hours, then,” said Count de Lacy, bowing 
low; “ I hasten to announce it to my officers. I am 
burning with impatience to witness this rare spectacle.” 

Count de Lacy departed, and General Tottleben was 
again alone. 

For a long time did he pace his room in abstract 
meditation, anger and pity, fear and terror struggling in 
his soul. He was perfectly aware of the danger which 
threatened him. He knew that Count Fermore hated 
him as a dangerous rival for the smiles of the empress, 
and only waited fcr a favorable opportunity to over- 
throw him. He was therefore obliged to yield to this 
cruel necessity; the Berlin armory must be sacrificed. 

Suddenly his countenance lighted up, and his fea- 
tures assumed an expression of joy. He hastened rap- 
idly to the door and summoned his body servant and 
slave, Ivan Petrowitsch. “Ivan,” said he, with the 
stern and cold composure of a Russian — “ Ivan, I have a 
commission for you, and if you are successful in its exe- 
cution, I will not have your son Feodor hung, although 
I know that yesterday, contrary to my order, he was 
present at the plundering of a house.” 

“Speak, master, what am I to do? I will save my 
son, even if it cost my own life.” 

“ It will cost your life, Ivan.” 

“I am your property, master, and my life belongs 
to you,” said the serf, sadly. “You can have me 
whipped to death any time it pleases you. Say, then, 
what I must do to save my son.” 

“ Fifty Cossacks are to ride immediately to the 
powder-mills to bring powder. You will accompany 
them.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 171 

Ivan looked at him with astonishment. “ Is that all 
I have to do ? ” asked he. 

Tottleben was not yet sufficiently Russian. His Ger- 
man heart would assert its rights. As he met the in- 
quiring look of Ivan, he turned his eye away. He forgot 
that it was only a serf he was speaking to, and not a 
human being. 

But he soon recalled it. “ You will accompany 
these Cossacks to the powder-mrlls, I say, and as you do 
so you will smoke your pipe, and see that the tobacco 
burns well, and that you are burning tinder on top 
of it.” 

An expression of comprehension shone in Ivan’s eyes. 
“ I will smoke, master,” said he, sadly. 

“ When you are in the powder-mills, and the Cos- 
sacks are loading the powder, you will help them, and in 
doing so you will let the pipe fall out of your mouth,” 
said. Tottleben, in an undertone, and his voice trembled 
ever so little. There was a pause — Ivan leaned, pale and 
trembling, against the wall. General Tottleben had 
turned away, as if afraid to encounter the pallid, terri- 
fied countenance of his slave. 

“ If you do not execute my command,” said he, 
finally, “ I will have your only son hung, as he deserves 
to be. If you betray to any one soever a word of my 
order, I will have your wife whipped to death. How 
think of it.” 

Ivan shook as if in an ague. His teeth chattered to- 
gether. “ I will smoke, master,” said he, at last, with 
an effort, “and I will drop my pipe in the powder- 
mills. Have pity on my son, master, and spare my 
wife! ” 

“I will do so, Ivan,” said Tottleben. “I will give 
them both their freedom, and a pension.” 


172 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Ivan dropped his head, and a convulsive groan hurst 
from his breast. 

“ Time passes; make haste! ” cried the general, with 
assumed harshness. 

“ I go, master,” sighed Ivan. “ You will not, then, 
string up my poor Feodor, nor have my wife whipped? ” 

“ If you execute my order strictly and punctually, I 
will care for them.” 

Two tears coursed slowly down Ivan’s brown cheek. 
“ I will carry out your orders, master; I will smoke, and 
I will drop my pipe. Farewell, master! ” 

He approached his master with slavish humility, and 
kissed the seam of his garment. “ Farewell, master. 
I thank you, for you have always been a kind master to 
me,” said he, and his tears moistened the general’s coat. 

General Tottleben was as yet unable completely to 
convert his German heart into a Russian one. He felt 
himself touched by this humble and heroic submission 
of his slave. He felt as if he must give him some com- 
fort on his fatal road. 

“ Ivan,” said he, softly, “ your death will save, per- 
haps, not only the property, hut also the lives of many 
hundred other men.” 

Ivan kissed passionately his proffered hand. “I 
thank you, master. Farewell, and think sometimes of 
your poor Ivan.” 

A quarter of an hour afterward was seen a troop of 
fifty Cossacks, on their swift-footed little horses, racing 
down Frederick Street. Each man had a powder-sack 
with him, and seeing them ride by, people whispered to 
each other, “ They are riding to the powder-mills. They 
have shot away all their own powder, and now, in true 
Cossack style, they are going to take our Prussian pow- 
der.” At that time Frederick Street did not reach he- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


173 


yond the river Spree. On the other hank began the 
faubourgs and the gardens. Even Monbijou was then 
only a royal country seat, situated in the Oranienburg 
suburb. The powder-mills, which lay beyond the gar- 
dens, with a large sandy plain intervening, were suffi- 
ciently remote from the town to prevent all danger from 
their possible explosion. 

Ivan, the serf of Count von Tottleben, rode by the 
side of the officer of the Cossacks. He pranced his pony 
about, and was cheerful and jolly like his comrades, the 
merry sons of the steppe. As they reached the gate they 
halted their horses, and gazed with evident pleasure on 
the desert, wild, sandy plain, which stretched out before 
them. 

“ How beautiful that is! ” exclaimed Petrowitsch, the 
hetman of the Cossacks. “ J ust look — what a hand- 
some steppe! ” 

“ J ust such a fine sand steppe as at home in our own 
country! ” sighed one of the Cossacks, beginning to 
hum a song of his home. 

“ This is the finest scenery I have seen in Germany/’ 
cried another. “ What a pleasure it would be to race 
over this steppe! ” 

“ Come on, then, let us get up a race over this splen- 
did steppe,” said a fourth, “and let us sing one of the 
songs we are used to at home.” 

“Yes, agreed! let us!” cried all, ranging quickly 
their horses in line. 

“ Wait a moment,” cried Ivan; “ I can’t sing, you all 
know, and I’ve only one sweetheart, and that’s my pipe. 
Let me then light my pipe so that I can smoke.” He 
struck fire with his steel, and lighting the tinder, placed 
it in the bowl of his pipe. Ho one saw the sad, shud- 
dering look which he cast at the glowing tinder and his 
12 


174 : 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


spark-scattering pipe. “ Now forward, boys, and sing us 
a lively song from home,” said Ivan. 

“ Hurrah! hurrah! ” 

They charge over the beautiful plain, and sing in a 
pealing chorus, the favorite song of the Cossack, at once 
so soft and sad: 

“ Lovely Minka ! must I leave thee f ” 

Big tears ran down poor Ivan’s cheek. No one saw 
them, no one observed him. He charged with the others 
over the Berlin steppe, and blew the smoke out of his 
pipe. No one heard the sad sighs which he uttered as 
he drew nearer and nearer to the powder-mills. No 
one heard the sad words of parting which he muttered 
to himself as his comrades sang: 

“ Lovely Minka ! must I leave thee, 

Leave my happy, heather plains f 
Ah ! this parting does not grieve thee, 

Though still true my heart remains. 

Far from thee I roam, 

Sadly see the sunbeams shining, 

Lonely all the night I’m pining 
Far from thee alone.” 

They reach the powder-mills; the Cossacks halt their 
horses and spring from their saddles. 

Slowly and hesitatingly does Ivan proceed; he passes 
about his pipe; he puffs at the tobacco to make it burn, 
and smoke more freely. 

And now all’s right. The pipe is alight. Like bril- 
liant 'eyes of fire the burning tobacco shines out of the 
bowl. Ivan puts it back in his mouth and blows great 
clouds of smoke, as he and the Cossacks approach the 
gates of the powder-mills. 

The Russian sentinels let them pass, and, joking and 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


175 


laughing merrily, the Cossacks carry their bags into the 
building to fill them with powder for the blowing up of 
the arsenal. How joyous and careless they are, these 
sons of the steppe! How calmly does Ivan continue to 
smoke his pipe, although they are now in the large hall, 
where casks of powder are ranged in endless rows! 

And now a cask is opened, and merrily and jestingly 
the Cossacks begin to load the powder into their sacks. 

What art thou staring at so wildly, Ivan Petro- 
witsch? Why do the big drops of sweat run down thy 
forehead? Why do thy limbs tremble, and why dost 
thou look so sadly and mournfully at thy comrades? 

They sing so merrily, they chatter so gayly, all the 
while pouring the powder into their sacks nimbly and 
actively! 

Ivan keeps on blowing furious clouds of smoke out of 
his pipe. 

Suddenly he utters a cry, a heart-rending, pitiful 
cry. The burning pipe drops from his mouth! 

Then rises a wild yell — an awful, horrible report! 

The earth quakes and trembles, as if about to open, 
to vomit forth the burning stream of a thundering 
crater. The sky seems blackened by the fearful smoke 
which fills the air far and wide. Everywhere may he 
seen human bodies, single shattered limbs, ruins of the 
exploded building, flying through the air, and covering 
the groaning, trembling earth. But no syllable or sound 
of complaint, no death-rattle is now heard. All is over. 

The powder-mills have flown into the air, and, 
though far distant from Berlin, yet this terrible explo- 
sion was felt in every part of the city.* In the Frederick 
Street the houses shook as if from an earthquake, and 
countless panes of glass were shattered. 

* Archenholz : “ History of the Seven Years’ War,” p. 194. 


176 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


With darkened brow and a burst of anger did Gen- 
eral von Tottleben receive the news that the powder- 
mills had blown up, and fifty Cossacks had lost their 
lives thereby. He mourned for the unfortunate Cos- 
sacks and his poor serf, Ivan Petrowitsch. Still more did 
he lament that it was now impossible to blow up the 
arsenal in Berlin. But it was not his fault that the 
commands of his empress could not be executed. The 
Russians had shot away all their powder, and the stock 
in the powder-mills having been destroyed, there was 
none left to carry into execution this grand undertaking. 


CHAPTER VI. 

JOHN GOTZKOWSKY. 

A sad and anxious period had the unfortunate city 
of Berlin yet to pass through. With fear and trembling 
did the inhabitants await the approach of each morning, 
and in spiritless despondency they seemed to have lost 
all capacity for helping themselves. 

There was but one man who, unterrified and unwa- 
vering, with the cheerful courage of a noble soul, exposed 
himself to danger, to suffering and grief, who proposed 
to himself but one object — to help others as far as lay 
in his power, and to avert fresh misfortune, additional 
care and anxiety from the too heavily laden inhabitants 
of Berlin. 

This one man was John Gotzkowsky, the Merchant 
of Berlin. In this day of their trouble the inhabitants 
looked up to him as to a helping angel; the poor prayed 
to him, the rich fled to him with their treasures; with 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

him the persecuted found refuge, the hungry shelter and 
food. 

For Gotzkowsky there was no rest or leisure, nor did 
he feel care or sorrow. The tears he had shed about 
Elise he had buried in his heart, overcoming a father’s 
grief by the power of his will. At this time he only 
remembered that he was called to the sacred duty of 
succoring his fellow-men, his suffering brothers — to be 
a father to the needy, a deliverer to the oppressed. 

The doors of his house were open to all who sought 
refuge with him. The wives and children and aged 
parents of his workmen rushed there with screams and 
loud lamentations, and he received them all, and gave 
them beds in his splendid halls, and his gilt and silken 
ottomans served for refreshing places to hungry and 
freezing poverty. 

But* not the poor alone, the wealthy also found refuge 
in his house. Theyrknew that Gotzkowsky’s word had 
much influence, not only with General Bachmann, but 
also with General von Tottleben, and that this latter had 
ordered that Gotzkowsky should always have free admis- 
sion to him. In their anxiety and need they put aside 
the proud bearing of their rank and dignity, and has- 
tened to him to plead for help and rest, to hide their 
treasures and place their lives and fortunes under his 
guardianship. 

But while hundreds sought refuge and safety there* 
Gotzkowsky himself was like a stranger in his own 
house. Bay and night was he seen on the streets; where- 
ever danger and alarm prevailed, he appeared like a 
rescuing angel; he brought help when all else despaired, 
and the power of his eloquence and his pleading words 
silenced even the rough insolence of the enemy’s soldiers. 
A hundred times did he expose his own life to save some 


178 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


unfortunate. In the New Frederick Street he rushed 
through the flames into a burning house to save a child 
which had been forgotten. 

Elsewhere he fought singly against twenty Aus- 
trian soldiers, who were about to carry off two young 
girls in spite of their heart-rending shrieks and en- 
treaties. The rescued maidens sank at his feet, and 
bathed his hand with their tears. 

Gotzkowsky raised them to his heart, and said, with 
an indescribable expression: “ Should I not have com- 
passion on you? Am not I a father? Thank my 
daughter, for it was she who saved you.” 

But now, at last, exhausted Nature demanded her 
rights. After two days and nights without rest, Gotz- 
kowsky tottered toward his own house. As he crossed 
the threshold he asked himself with an anxious heart — 
“ Will Elise come to meet me? Has she cared for me? ” 
And trembling with care and love, he went in. 

Elise did not come to meet him. No one hade him 
welcome but his servant Peter. Gently at last, indeed 
almost timidly, he ventured to inquire after his daughter. 

“ She is in the large hall, busy nursing the wounded 
who have been carried there.” 

Gotzkowsky’s countenance, expressed great delight 
and relief at this report. Elise had not, then, buried 
herself in the solitude of her room in idle complaint, 
hut had sought, like himself, comfort for her suffering 
in helping and sympathizing with others. In this mo- 
ment he appreciated the infinity of his love. He yearned 
to take her to his heart, and pour oiqtj to her all his un- 
appreciated, doubted love, and convince her that she, 
his daughter, the only child of his wife, was the true 
end and object of his life. But unhappy, oppressed 
Berlin left him no time to attend to the soft and 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


179 

gentle dictates of his father’s heart. He had scarcely 
got into his house, when two messengers arrived from the 
town Council, bringing him six thousand dollars in cash, 
with the urgent request that he would take charge of 
this sum, which would be safe only with him. The 
town messengers had scarcely left him, when there ar- 
rived the rich manufacturers, Wegeli and Wuerst, with 
a wagon-load of gold and silver bars which Gotzkowsky 
had promised to keep in his fire-proof cellars. 

His house had become the treasury of the whole of 
Berlin; and if it had been destroyed, with all these gold 
and silver ingots, these diamonds and silver ware, money 
and papers, all the Exchanges of Europe would have 
felt the disastrous consequences. 

At last, all these treasures .were stowed away, and 
Gotzkowsky addressed himself to rest, when the door 
of his room was suddenly opened, and General von Bach- 
mann entered hastily. 

“ Gotzkowsky,” said he, “ I have come with impor- 
tant intelligence, and to redeem the promise I made to 
my friend Sievers .” Approaching more closely to Gotz- 
kowsky, he said to him in an undertone: “ General von 
Tottleben has just received orders to destroy and burn 
all royal factories and mills.” 

Gotzkowsky turned pale, and inquired with horror, 
“ Why this barbarous proceeding? ” 

General Bachmann shrugged his shoulders. “It is 
the order of the commander-in-chief. Count von Fer- 
more,” said he; “ and Tottleben will have to be all the 
more particular from the fact that, instead of the arsenal, 
fifty of our soldiers were blown into the air. Here, in 
the mean while, take this paper, and see whether, among 
the factories to be destroyed, one of yours has been in- 
cluded by mistake.” 


180 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Gotzkowsky looked over the list with dismay. “ Did 
not your excellency say that only royal factories were to 
he destroyed?” 

“ Yes, so runs the order.” 

“ But the factories that stand on this list are not 
royal institutions. The brass-works in Eberwalde, the 
gold and silver factories, and the warehouse in Berlin, 
do not belong to the king, and are they going to he so 
barbarous as to destroy them? That cannot he. I will 
hasten to General Tottleben, and entreat him to revoke 
this cruel order.” 

General Bachmann shook his head sadly. “I am 
afraid it will he in vain,” said he. “ Besides, you incur 
great risk in your undertaking. The general is in a 
very angry, excited mood, and your intercession will 
only increase his bitterness and anger.” 

“ I fear not his anger,” cried Gotzkowsky boldly. 
“If no one else dares to tell him the truth, I will do it; 
and with argument and entreaty compel him to he hu- 
mane, and to respect the property of others. Come, sir, 
let us go to General Tottleben! ” 

“No, sir. I am not going with you,” said Bach- 
mann, laughing. “ I am not a man to tremble on the 
eve of battle, and yet I fear to meet Tottlehen’s angry 
looks. In his wrath he is like a Jupiter Tonans, ready 
to launch his thunderbolts, and dash to pieces all who 
approach him.” 

“ I am not afraid of his thunder! ” cried Gotzkow- 
sky, fervently. “ The property and welfare of Berlin 
are in danger. I must go to the general! ” 

“Then go along,” said Bachmann, “and may God 
give power to your words! I have warned you, and that 
is all I can do.” 

Gotzkowsky did not answer him. Trembling with 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


181 


eagerness and impatience, he dressed himself, and throw- 
ing his cloak around him, he once more left his house, 
with the alacrity of a young man. 

General Bachmann looked after him, smiling 
thoughtfully. “ He is a noble fellow,” said he, “ and 
Berlin has good reason to be grateful to him, and to 
love him. But who knows? perhaps, for that very 
reason, she will one day hate him. Noble-mindedness is 
so soon forgotten! It is the solid weight that sinks to 
the bottom, while light deeds float on top. Mankind 
is not fond of being grateful. I would like to know 
whether Berlin will ever show a due appreciation of this 
noble man? ” 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE HORRORS OF WAR. 

The Russians had at last allowed themselves to be 
carried away by the example set them by the Austrians 
and Saxons. Like them, they roamed through Berlin, 
robbing and plundering, unmindful of discipline, and 
forgetting the severe punishments which Tottleben in- 
flicted on those whose misdeeds reached his ear. 

Like the Austrians, the Cossacks entered houses with 
wanton arrogance, and, under the pretext of being Rus- 
sian safeguards, they stole, and robbed, and ill-treated in 
the rudest manner those who opposed their demands. 
They had even managed to reduce their robbery and 
extortion to a kind of system, and to value the human 
person after a new fashion. It was a sort of mercantile 
transaction, and the Cossacks were the brokers in this 
new-fashioned business. Stealthily and unheard, they 


182 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


slipped into houses, fell upon the unsuspecting women 
and children, and dragged them out, not to capture them 
as the Romans did the Sabine women, but to hold them 
as so much merchandise, to be redeemed by their friends 
and relatives at high and often enormous ransoms. 

But the Cossacks drew but small profit from this 
hunt after noble human game. They were only ser- 
vants, acting under orders from their officers. These 
latter divided the booty, throwing to the Cossacks a 
small reward for their skill in robbing. 

Thus, for some days, Berlin was not only subjugated 
by the enemy, hut a prey to robbers and slave-dealers, 
and moans and lamentations were heard in every house. 
All the more merrily did the enemy’s soldiers carouse 
and enjoy themselves, laugh and joke. For them Berlin 
was nothing more than an orange to he squeezed dry, 
whose life-blood was to he drawn out to add new zest to 
their own draught of life. 

The young Russian officers were sitting together in 
the large room of their barracks. They were drinking 
and making merry, and striking their glasses noisily to- 
gether; draining them to the health of the popular, 
handsome, and brilliant comrade who had just entered 
their circle, and who was no other than he whom Gotz- 
kowsky’s daughter, in the sorrow of her heart, was mourn- 
ing as dead! — no one else than the Russian colonel, Count 
Feodor von Brenda. 

He had been right, therefore, in trusting to Fortune. 
Fortune had favored him, as she always does those who 
boldly venture all to win all, and who sport with danger 
as with a toy. Indeed, it was an original and piquant 
adventure which the Russian colonel had experienced, 
the more piquant because it had threatened him with 
death, and at one moment his life had been in extreme 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


183 


danger. It had delighted him for once to experience 
all the horrors of death, the palpitation, the despair of 
a condemned culprit; to acquire in his own person a 
knowledge of the great and overpowering feelings, which 
he had read so much about in books, and which he had 
not felt in reality even in the midst of battle. But yet 
this hold playing with death had, toward the last, lost 
a little of its charm, and a moment arrived when his 
courage failed him, and his daring spirit was overpow- 
ered by his awed physical nature. There was not, as 
there is in battle, the excitement which conquers the 
fear of death, and drunk with victory, mocks one to his 
face; there was not the wild delight which possesses 
the soldier in the midst of a shower of balls, and makes 
him, as it were, rush toward eternity with a shout. No, 
indeed! It was something quite different which Colo- 
nel von Brenda, otherwise so brave and valiant, now felt. 

When the Austrian soldiers had pronounced his sen- 
tence of death, when they formed a ring around him at 
the Gens-d’Armes Market, and loaded their pieces for 
his execution, then the haughty Russian colonel felt a 
sudden change take place; his blood curdled in his veins, 
and he felt as if thousands of small worms were creeping 
through them, gliding slowly, horribly to his heart. 
At length, in the very despair which oppressed him, he 
found strength to cast his incubus from his breast, and 
with a voice loud and powerful as thunder to cry out for 
help and succor. His voice was heard; it reached the 
ear of General Bachmann, who came in person to set free 
the wild young officer, the favorite of his empress, from 
the hands of the Austrians. 

This adventure, which had terminated so famously, 
Count Brenda now related to his friends and comrades. 
To be sure, the general had punished the mad freak 


184 : 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


with an arrest of four-and-twenty hours. But after 
undergoing this punishment, he was more than ever the 
hero of the day, the idol of his comrades, who now cele- 
brated his release from arrest with loud rejoicing and the 
cracking of champagne bottles. After they had laughed 
and joked to their satisfaction, they resorted to the dice. 

“ And what stake shall we play for? ” asked Feodor, 
as he cast a look of ill-concealed contempt on his young 
companions, who so little understood the art of drinking 
the cup of pleasure with decency, and rolled about on 
their seats with lolling tongues and leering eyes. 

Feodor alone had preserved the power of his mind; 
his brain alone was unclouded by the fumes of cham- 
pagne, and that which had made the others mad had 
only served to make him sad and gloomy. The drunk- 
enness of his comrades had sobered him, and, feeling 
satiated with all the so-called joys and delights of life, 
he asked himself, with a smile of contempt, whether the 
stammering, staggering fellows, who sat next to him, 
were fit and suitable companions and associates of a man 
who had made pleasure a study, and who considered 
enjoyment as a philosophical problem, difficult of solu- 
tion. 

And for what stake shall we play? ?? he asked again, 
as with a powerful grip he woke his neighbor, Lieu- 
tenant von Matusch, out of the half sleep which had 
crept over him. 

“ For our share of the booty! ” stammered the lieu- 
tenant. 

Feodor looked at him with surprise. “ What booty? 
Have we, then, become robbers and plunderers, that you 
speak of booty? ” 

His comrades burst into a wild laugh. 

“Just listen to the sentimental dreamer, the 


cos- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


1S5 


mopolite,” cried Major von Fritsch. “ He looks upon it 
as dishonorable to take booty. I for my part maintain 
that there is no greater pleasure, and certainly none 
which is more profitable. Fill your glasses, friends, and 
let us drink to our hunting. 4 Hurrah! hurrah for hu- 
man game ! 9 99 

They struck their glasses together, and emptied them 
amidst an uproar of laughter. 

44 Colonel, you shall have your share of the booty! ” 
said Lieutenant von Matusch, laying his heavy, shaky 
hand on Feodor’s shoulder. 44 We never intended to 
cheat you out of your portion, hut you were not here, 
and therefore up to this time you could have no share 
in it.” 

As Feodor pressed him with questions, he related 
how they had formed a compact, and pledged themselves 
to have their booty and captives in common. 

44 We have caught more than a dozen head, and they 
have ransomed themselves handsomely,” cried Major von 
Fritsch. 44 We have just sent out ten of our men again 
on the chase.” 

44 Oh ! I hope they will bring in just such another 
handsome young girl as they did yesterday,” cried Ma- 
tusch, rubbing his hands with delight. 44 Ah, that was a 
pleasant evening! She offered us treasures, diamonds, 
and money; she promised us thousands if we would only 
release her at once! She wept like a Madonna, and 
wrung her snow-white hands, and all that only made her 
prettier still.” 

Colonel Feodor looked at him in anger. In contact 
with such coarse and debauched companions his more 
refined self rose powerful within him, and his originally 
noble nature turned with loathing from this barren 
waste of vulgarity and infamy. 


186 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


“ I hope,” said he, warmly, “ that yon have behaved 
as becomes noble gentlemen.” 

Matuseh shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “ I do 
not know what you call so, colonel. She was very pretty, 
and she pleased me. I promised to set her free to- 
day, for the ransom agreed on, and I have kept my 
word.” 

As he spoke thus, he hurst into a loud laugh, in 
which his friends joined with glee. 

But Feodor von Brenda did not laugh. An inex- 
plicable, prophetic dread overpowered him. What if 
this young girl, described to him with so much gusto, 
and who had been so shamefully ill-treated, should 
prove to be his Elise, his beloved! 

At this thought, anger and distress took possession 
of him, and he never loved Elise more ardently and truly 
than he did at this moment when he trembled for her. 
“And was there no one,” cried he, with flashing eyes, 
“no one knightly and manly enough to take her part? 
How! even you, Major von Fritsch, allowed this thing to 
happen? ” 

“ I was obliged to do so,” replied the major. “ We 
have made a law among ourselves, which we have all 
sworn to obey. It is established that the dice shall de- 
termine to which of the officers the booty shall belong; 
and he who throws the highest number becomes the 
owner of the person. He has to negotiate about the 
ransom. This, however, of course is divided among his 
comrades.” 

“But if the person is poor?” asked Feodor, indig- 
nantly, “if she cannot pay?” 

“ Then she belongs to him who has won her; he must 
decide on her fate. He is — ” 

The major stopped suddenly. The other officers 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


187 

raised themselves in their seats, and listened with breath- 
less attention. 

“ I think I hear the signal,” whispered the major. 
He had not deceived himself. A shrill, piercing whistle 
sounded a second time. The officers sprang from their 
seats, and broke into a loud cry of triumph: 

“ Our Cossacks are coming. They have caught 
something! Come, come, let us throw the dice.” 

With fierce eagerness, they all. rushed to the table, 
and stretched out their hands for the hones. Imme- 
diately a deep, expectant silence ensued. Nothing was 
heard but the rattling of the dice, and the monotonous 
calling of the numbers thrown. Feodor alone remained 
at his place, lost in deep thought, and his tortured heart 
kept asking itself the question, “ Could it be her whom 
the barbarians had captured and ill-used? ” This ques- 
tion burnt in his brain like a red-hot dagger, upsetting 
his reason, and driving him almost mad with anger and 
grief. Still the rattling of the noisy dice went on — the 
calling of the numbers. No one took notice of the 
young man, who, in desperate distress, his clinched fist 
pressed against his breast, paced up and down the farther 
end of the room, uttering broken words of anger and 
grief. No one, as has been said, noticed him, nor did 
any one remark that at this moment the door in the 
background of the hall was opened, and six Cossacks 
entered, bearing a litter on their shoulders. 

Feodor von Brenda saw them, and, with deep com- 
passion, he regarded the veiled, inanimate figure lying 
on the litter, which was set down by the Cossacks. 

“ Colonel von Brenda,” cried Major von Fritsch at 
this moment, “ it is your turn.” 

“ Oh, he is too sentimental! ” laughed out Matusch. 
“ Is not that the fact, colonel? ” 


188 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Feodor remained musing and pensive. “ It is a wom- 
an,” said he to himself — “ perhaps a young and hand- 
some woman like Elise. How if I should try to save her? 
I have luck at the dice. Well, I will try.” And with a 
firm step he approached the table. “ Give me the 
bones,” cried he. “ I will throw with you for my share 
of the booty.” 

The dice rattled and tumbled merrily on the table. 

“ Eighteen spots! ” 

“ The highest throw! ” 

“ Colonel von Brenda has won! ” 

“ The woman is mine! ” cried Feodor, his counte- 
nance beaming with joy. 

His comrades looked at him with astonishment. “ A 
woman! How do you know beforehand that it is a 
woman? ” 

Feodor pointed silently to the back part of the room. 
There stood the Cossacks, next to the litter, waiting 
in solemn silence to he noticed. 

<e A woman! Wes, by Heavens! it is a woman,” cried 
the officers. And, with boisterous laughter, they rushed 
toward the Cossacks. 

“ And where did you pick her up? ” asked Major von 
Fritsch. 

“ Don’t know,” answered one of the Cossacks. “ We 
crept along a wall, and when we had climbed to the top, 
we saw a garden. We got down slowly and carefully, 
and waited behind the trees, to see if any one would 
come down the long avenue. We did not have long to 
wait before this lady came by herself. We rushed on 
her, and all her struggles, of course, went for nothing. 
Luckily for her and us, she fainted, for if she had cried 
out, some one, perhaps, might have come, and then we 
would have been obliged to gag her.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


189 


The officers laughed. “ Well,” said the major, 
“ Colonel Feodor can stop her mouth now with kisses.” 
In the mean while, Lieutenant Matusch threw the Cos- 
sacks a few copper coins, and drove them out of the 
room, with scornful words of abuse. 

“ And now let us see what we have won,” cried the 
officers, rushing to the litter. They were in the act of 
raising the cloth which concealed the figure, but Feodor 
stepped forward with determined countenance and flash- 
ing eyes. 

“ Let no one dare to raise this veil,” $aid he haugh- 
tily. His comrades rushed, with easily aroused anger, 
on him, and attempted again to approach the veiled 
woman. “ Be on your guard! ” cried Feodor, and, 
drawing his sword from its scabbard, he placed himself 
before the litter, ready for the combat. The officers 
drew back. The determined, defiant countenance of the 
young warrior, his raised and ready sword, made them 
hesitate and yield. 

“ Feodor is right,” said the major, after a pause; 
“ he has fairly won the woman, and it is his business now 
to settle about the ransom.” 

The others cast their eyes down, perhaps ashamed 
of their own rudeness. “ He is right, she belongs to 
him,” murmured they, as they drew hack and approached 
the door. 

“ Go, my friends, go,” said Feodor. “ I promise 
you that I will settle with her about her ransom, .and 
give up beforehand all claim to my share! ” 

The countenances of the Russian officers brightened 
up. They nodded and smiled toward him as they left 
the room. Count Feodor von Brenda was now alone 
with the veiled and insensible woman. 


13 


190 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

/BY CHANCE. 

As soon as the officers had left the room, Feodor 
hastened to close the door after them carefully, to pre- 
vent any importunate intrusion. He then searched 
thoroughly all the corners of the room, and behind the 
window-curtains, to make sure that no one was concealed 
there. He wished to be entirely undisturbed with the 
poor woman whose face he had not yet beheld, but to- 
ward whom he felt himself attracted by a singular, inex- 
plicable sensation. As soon as he was convinced that 
he was quite alone, he went to her with flushed cheeks 
and a beating heart, and unveiled her. 

But scarcely had he cast his eyes on her, when he 
uttered a cry, and staggered back with horror. This 
woman who lay there before him, lifeless and motionless, 
pale and beautiful as a broken flower, was none other 
than Elise Gotzkowsky, his beloved! He stood and 
stared at her; he pressed his hands to his forehead as if 
to rouse himself from this spell which had hold of him, 
as if to open his eyes to truth and reality. But it was 
no dream, no illusion. It was herself, his own Elise. 
He approached her, seized her hand, passed his hands 
over her glossy hair, and looked at her long and anxious- 
ly. His blood rushed like a stream of fire to his heart, 
it seethed and burned in his head, in his veins; and, 
quite overcome, he sank down before her. 

“ It is she,” murmured he softly, “ it is Elise. How 
she is mine, and no one can take her from me. She 
belongs to me, my wife, my beloved. Fate itself bears 
her to my arms, and I were a fool to let her escape 
again.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


191 

With passionate impetuosity lie pressed her to his 
heart, and covered her lips and face with his kisses. But 
the violence of his affection aroused Elise. Slowly and 
stunned she raised herself in his arms, and looked 
around, as if awakened from a dream. “ Where ami?” 
asked she, languidly. 

Feodor, still kneeling before her, drew her more 
closely to his heart. “ You are with me,” said he, pas- 
sionately, and as he felt her trembling in his arms, he 
continued still more warmly: “ Fear nothing; my Elise, 
look not so timidly and anxiously about you. Look upon 
me, me, who am lying at your feet, and who ask nothing 
more from Fortune than that this moment should last 
an eternity.” 

Elise scarcely understood him. She was still stunned 
still confused by the dreams of her swoon. She passed 
her hand over her forehead, and let it drop again list- 
less and powerless. “My senses are confused,” whis- 
pered she in a low voice, “I do not hear; what has hap- 
pened to me?” 

“ Do not ask, do not inquire,” cried Feodor, ardently. 
“ Think only that love has sent an angel to you, on 
whose wings you have reposed on your passage hither to 
me. Why will you ask after the nature of the miracle, 
when the miracle itself brings delight to our eyes and 
hearts? Therefore, fear nothing, gentle, pure being. 
Like an angel do you come to me through the deluge of 
sin. You bear the olive-branch of peace, and love and 
happiness are before us.” 

But as he was about to press her still more closely to 
his heart, a shudder pervaded her whole frame. “ Oh, 
now, I recollect,” she cried, vehemently; “now I know 
all! I was alone in the garden. There came those ter- 
rible men. They seized me with their rude hands. 


192 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


They wounded my heart with their horrible looks, which 
made me shudder. Whither have they brought me? 
where am I? ” 

“ You are with me,” said Feodor, carrying her hand 
to his lips. 

For the first time, then, she looked at him— for the 
first time, she recognized him. A deep blush of joy suf- 
fused her cheeks, and an angelic smile beamed on her 
lips. She felt, she knew nothing further than that her 
lover was at her side, that he was not dead — that he was 
not lost to her. With an outcry of delight she threw 
herself into his arms, and greeted the lost, the found 
one, with warm and happy words of love. She 
raised her eyes and hands to heaven. “ Oh, my God, 
he lives! ” cried she, exultingly. “ I thank Thee, 
God, I thank Thee. Thou hadst pity on my suffer- 
ings.” 

“Love protected me,” said Feodor, gazing at her 
passionately. “ Love saved me by a miracle. Still more 
miraculously, it brings you to my arms. Fear not, Elise. 
No other eye than mine has seen you. No one knows 
your name. That sweet secret is only known to Love 
and ourselves.” 

Elise trembled. This imprudent speech woke her 
out of the stupor which had so long had possession of 
her; it recalled her to the world, and dispelled the 
charm which his presence, his looks, and his words had 
thrown around her. She was now aroused, and hurried 
from a state of dreamy delight to one of cruel and 
dread reality. The ray of joy faded from her cheek, 
the smile died on her lips, and, extricating herself forci- 
bly from his arms, she stood before him in her pride and 
anger. “ Feodor,” said she, terrified, “ you sent those 
fearful men! You caused me to he kidnapped! ” With 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


193 

an angry, penetrating glance, she looked at Feodor, who 
sank his eyes in confusion to the ground. 

As she saw this, she smiled contemptuously, and her 
injured maiden honor overcame her love and tenderness. 
“ Ah! now I understand! ” said she, with cutting scorn. 
“ I have been told of the hunt after human beings which 
is carried on in the town. Colonel Feodor von Brenda 
plays a worthy part in this game! ” 

Feodor wished to approach her and take her hand, 
but she repulsed him sternly. “ Do not touch me,” 
cried she, haughtily; “ do not seek to take my hand. 
You are no longer he whom I love. You are a kidnap- 
per. But let me tell you, though you have compelled my 
body to suffer this dishonorable deed, yet my soul re- 
mains free, and that despises you ! 99 

It was a splendid sight to see her in her noble wrath, 
which seemed to elevate her whole frame, and drive a 
deep glow to her cheeks. 

Feodor looked at her with ardent gaze. Never had 
he seen her so fascinating, so charmingly beautiful. 
Even her wrath delighted him, for it was a token of her 
purity and innocence. 

He wanted again to draw near to her, to take her to 
his heart, but she drew back in pride and anger. “ Go,” 
said she, “ I have nothing to do with a man who violates 
the most sacred laws of human honor, and like a vile 
thief sneaks in to destroy innocence.” Her voice failed 
her, her eyes filled with tears, hut she shook them from 
her. “ I weep,” said she, “ but not for grief, nor yet for 
love; anger it is alone which extorts tears from me, and 
they are hitter — far more bitter than death.” And as she 
thus spoke, she pressed her hands to her face, and wept 
bitterly. 

Feodor passed his arm gently around her trembling 


194 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


form. In the excess of her grief she did not feel it. 
“ No, Elise,” said he, “ you weep because you love me. 
You weep because you think me unworthy of your love. 
But before you condemn me, listen to me. I swear to 
you by the memory of my mother, the only woman in 
whom, besides yourself, I ever believed, that I had no 
part in this treachery which has been committed toward 
you. You must believe me, Elise! Look at me, be- 
loved one — I can bear your looks. I dare raise my eyes 
to you. I am not guilty of this crime.” 

Her hands glided slowly from her face, and she 
looked at him. Their looks met, and rested for a long 
time on each other. She read in his eyes that he was 
innocent, for love is confiding, and she loved him. With 
a charming smile she extended both hands toward him, 
and he read in her looks the words of love and tenderness 
which her timid lips did not dare give expression to. 

Feodor drew her warmly to his heart. “You be- 
lieve me,” cried he, passionately; and as he raised her 
with irresistible strength in his arms, he murmured 
low, “ Now let us enjoy the sacred hour of happiness 
without inquiring what divinity we have to thank 
for it.” 

But the instinct of modesty prevailed over love. 
“ No,” cried she, as she struggled out of his arms, trem- 
bling with excitement — “no, Feodor, it is no hour of 
happiness in which my honor and good name are to be 
buried— no hour of happiness when scandal can tell 
from mouth to mouth how a German maiden let herself 
be carried into the Russian camp, and shamelessly rushed 
into the arms of dishonor; for so will they tell it, Feodor. 
No one will believe that you had no hand in this outrage. 
The world never believes in innocence. Whoever is 
accused is already condemned, even if the judge’s sen- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


195 


tence should a thousand times pronounce him innocent. 
No, they will point at me with the finger of scorn, and. 
with an exultant laugh will say to each other, 4 Behold 
the barefaced woman who deserted to the Russians, and 
revelled with her lover, while her native town was groan- 
ing amidst blood and tears. Look at the rich man’s 
child, who is so poor in honor! ’ ” 

Deeply moved by her own words, she drew herself up 
still more in the power of her dignity and innocence, and 
gazed at Feodor with flashing eyes. “ Count Feodor von 
Brenda,” cried she, firmly, “ will you allow your bride 
to be suspected and defamed? that a stain should be al- 
lowed to rest upon the name of her who is to become your 
wife? ” 

In her proud excitement she did not perceive the 
rapid motion of his lips, nor the blush of shame which 
suffused his cheeks; she remarked not that he cast down 
his eyes and spoke to her with broken and trembling 
voice. 

“Elise,” said he, “you are beside yourself. Your 
excited fancy paints every thing to you in sombre colors. 
Who will dare to defame you? Who knows that you are 
here? ” 

“ But the whole world will know it. Scandal has a 
thousand tongues to spread evil reports. Feodor, let me 
go. You say that no one knows that I am here; then 
no one will know that I go. Be merciful with me, 
let me go ! 99 

“ No,” cried he, almost rudely. “ I will not let you. 
You ask what is impossible. I were a fool if I were thus 
madly to cast the happiness away which I would fain 
purchase with my heart’s blood. Twice have I risked 
my life to see you, to be able to kneel for one happy, 
undisturbed hour at your feet, and gaze on you, and in- 


196 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


toxicate myself with that gaze. And now you ask that 
I shall voluntarily give up my happiness and you! ” 

“ My happiness! my happiness! yes, even my life I 
ask you to preserve by letting me go hence, and return 
to my father’s house,” cried Elise, eagerly. 

As she perceived that he shook his head in refusal, 
and met his wild, passionate looks, reading in them that 
she might expect no mercy from him, her anger flashed 
forth. Imploringly she raised her arms to heaven, and 
her voice sounded full and powerful: “ Feodor, I swear 
to you by God in heaven, and the memory of my mother, 
that I will only become the wife of that man whom I 
follow of my free will out of the house of my father. 
I am capable of leaving my father’s house; but it must 
be my own free choice, my free determination.” 

“ No,” said Feodor, wildly; “I will not let you go. 
You are mine, and you shall remain.” 

Elise drew nearer to him with bashful tenderness. 
“ You must let me go now, in order one of these days 
to demand your pure wife from out her father’s house,” 
said she. There was something so touching, so confid- 
iier mann r, against his will, felt him- 

self overcome b\ it; but even while submitting to this 
iiscinut iOii ao . most ashamed of himself, and deep 
sadness filled his soul. 

Silently they stood opposite to each other, Elise look- 
ing at him with tenderness, yet with fear — he his head 
bowed, wrestling with his own heart. Suddenly this 
silence was interrupted by a loud and violent knocking 
at the door. The voices of his wild companions and mad 
comrades were calling out loudly Feodor’s name, and 
demanding, with vehement impetuosity, the opening of 
the closed door. Feodor turned pale. The thought 
that his Elise, this young, innocent, and modest girl, 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 197 

should be exposed to the insolent gaze of his riotous com- 
panions, irritated him. 

Casting his angry glances around the room to seek 
for a hiding-place in which to conceal Elise, he perceived 
that this was in vain, that no escape was possible. Sadly 
he sank his head upon his breast, and sighed. Elise 
understood him; she comprehended her disconsolate and 
desperate position. 

“ There is then no place where I can hide myself? ” 
said she in despair. “Shame awaits me. The whole 
world will know that I am here! ” 

Outside the officers raged still louder, and demanded 
with more violent cries the opening of the door. Feodor 
still looked around him for a secret place. Nowhere 
was there a possibility of hiding her, or letting her es- 
cape unnoticed. His infuriated companions threatened 
to break the door in. 

Feodor now with determination seized the large 
shawl which had previously enveloped Elise’s form, and 
threw it over her face. “ Well then,” said he, “ let them 
come; but woe to him who touches this cloth! ” 

He pressed the veiled maiden down in a chair, and, 
hastening to the door, drew back the bolt. 


CHAPTER IX. 

MISTRESS OR MAID. 

As Feodor opened the door, his comrades rushed 
screaming and laughing uproariously into the room, 
spying round eagerly for the poor woman, the noble 
game which they had hunted down. 


198 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


When they perceived Elise seated in a chair, veiled 
and motionless just as they had left her, they gave vent 
to a cry of delight, and began to explain to the colonel, 
in a most confused jumble, often interrupted by bursts 
of laughter and merry ejaculations, the cause of their 
stormy interruption. A young man, they said, had just 
come inquiring after a young lady who had been carried 
off by the Cossacks. He had insisted upon seeing Colo- 
nel Feodor von Brenda, in order to offer a ransom for 
the captive lady. 

“ We have come to inform you of this,” said Lieu- 
tenant von Matusch, “ so that you may not let her go 
too cheap. This is the richest haul we have made yet.” 

“ The daughter of the rich Gotzkowsky! ” cried an- 
other officer. 

“ She’ll have to pay a tremendous ransom,” shouted 
Major von Fritsch. 

Feodor exclaimed, with assumed astonishment, “ That 
woman there the daughter of Gotzkowsky! Why, don’t 
you know, my friends, that I lived for a long time in Ber- 
lin, and am intimately acquainted with the beautiful 
and brilliant daughter of the rich Gotzkowsky? I can 
assure you that they do not resemble each other in a 
single feature.” 

The officers looked at one another with amazement 
and incredulity. “ She is not Gotzkowsky’s daughter? 
But the young man told us that he came from Mr. Gotz- 
kowsky.” 

“ And from that you draw the conclusion that this is 
his daughter whom you have caught,” cried Feodor, 
laughing. “ Where is this man? ” 

Lieutenant von Matusch opened the door, and on the 
threshold appeared the serious figure of Bertram. He 
had fulfilled the vow which he had made to himself, and 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. . 


199 


carefully and attentively watched and guarded every step 
of Elise; and while Gotzkowsky was absent from home 
night and day faithfully serving his country, Bertram 
had been a vigilant sentinel over his daughter. Indeed, 
Gotzkowsky’s house had been, to all appearance, perfect- 
ly safe; it was the sanctuary and refuge of all the un- 
fortunate, the only secure place where they could bestow 
their valuables. Russian sentinels stood before the 
house, and Tottleben’s adjutant had his residence in it. 
But this security only applied to the house. As long as 
Elise kept herself within-doors, Bertram had no fear. 
But there was the large garden in which she loved to 
roam for hours together, and especially her favorite re- 
sort at the extreme end of the same, not far from the 
wall, which was so easy to climb. 

Bertram had not ventured to restrain Elise from 
visiting this solitary and secluded spot, hut he had fol- 
lowed her on her visits to it. There, hidden behind 
some tree he had, with the patience and perseverance 
of which love alone is capable, watched the young girl, 
who was neither desirous of nor grateful for guardian- 
ship. This very day he had followed her softly and 
unperceived into the garden. Then, when he had as- 
certained whither she directed her steps, he had re T 
turned into the house to complete some important busi- 
ness of Gotzkowsky. But impelled by anxious and un- 
accountable restlessness, he had hastened back into the 
garden; at a distance he heard Elise’s cry for help, and, 
rushing forward, had come up just in time to see her 
raised over the wall by the Cossacks. 

Stunned by horror at this sight, Bertram stood for 
a moment motionless. He then felt but one desire, one 
resolve, and that was — to rescue her. He hurried to the 
house for the purpose of proceeding to General Tottleben 


200 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


and invoking his assistance and support. But a sudden 
and painful thought arrested his steps. 

Suppose that Elise had not gone against her will? 
Suppose that this had been a preconcerted abduction, 
to which the semblance of violence had only been given, 
in order, in case of failure, to maintain Elise’s reputation 
free from stain? 

With a sigh of anguish he recalled to mind when 
Elise had hidden her lover in her bedchamber that night 
when Gotzkowsky had delivered Feodor over to the Aus- 
trians. Since then father and daughter had not met, and 
no word of reproach had passed Elise’s lips. But Ber- 
tram understood that Gotzkowsky’s cruel and relentless 
sacrifice of her lover had forever estranged the heart of 
his daughter from him; that this hard though just deed 
had torn asunder the last link which bound her to him. 

Elise could have learned just as well as Bertram had 
that Feodor had been accidentally saved. Her lover 
himself could have sent her this information, and she, 
who in the bitterness of her grief had torn herself loose 
from her father, might not have had the strength to 
withstand his ardent prayers. Perhaps in her sense 
of bereavement, trusting to her love, she might have 
found the sad courage to brave not only her father, hut 
the judgment and scorn of the world, in order to he 
united to her lover. 

Such thoughts as these arrested Bertram’s steps, and 
compelled him to reflection. Only one thing was posi- 
tive — he must save her at every hazard, even against her 
will, even if he should reap, as the sole reward of his 
devoted love, her aversion; he must save her from her 
own passionate, foolish heart, or from the wild lust of the 
unprincipled man to whom she trusted her innocence, 
her youth, and beauty. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


201 


But this duty he had to perform alone; he dared not 
trust any one with his secret, for fear of thereby defeat- 
ing the object he had in view, and, instead of saving, 
bringing disgrace upon her. His resolve was formed. 
He must seek her out. He must penetrate to where she 
was, even if hid behind a wall of Russian soldiers. Faith- 
ful and unselfish as ever, she should find him at her side, 
ready to protect her against every attack, every danger, 
even from her own inexperience or the reckless passion 
of her lover. Especially above all things, her abduction 
must remain a secret. To her maidens, therefore, Ber- 
tram said, that their young mistress had withdrawn into 
her room, and shut herself in, in order, after so many 
sleepless nights, to enjoy a little rest. The same in- 
formation he left behind for Gotzkowsky, and, provid- 
ing himself with weapons, he betook himself to the 
search for Elise. In the first place, he naturally di- 
rected his steps to the dwelling of Colonel von Brenda. 
Here he learned that the latter was not at home, hut had 
gone to an entertainment at the mess-room of his regi- 
ment. Thither he hastened, firmly resolved to over- 
come all obstacles, and in spite of every refusal to see 
the colonel, and read in his countenance whether he 
were an accomplice of the crime committed, or whether 
Elise had followed him of her own free will. 

At first, he had been obstinately refused admittance; 
then in his despair and anguish he had made use of Gotz- 
kowsky’s name, a golden key to open the doors, as he 
well knew. In fact, scarcely had the gold-greedy Rus- 
sian officers ascertained .that the young stranger came 
as a messenger from Gotzkowsky and wished to inquire 
of Count von Brenda, after a young lady who had been 
carried off by the Cossacks, than with a yell of delight 
they rushed toward the door of the room in which were 


202 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Feodor and the captured maiden. Bertram had, there- 
fore, to thank the avarice of the Russian officers that the 
door was opened and he was allowed to enter. 

As Bertram appeared on the threshold of the room, 
a scream escaped the lips of the female, and he was en- 
abled, notwithstanding the concealment, to recognize 
her whom he sought. His heart was convulsed with 
pain, and his impulse for a moment was, to rush upon 
this audacious, dissolute young man who stood next to 
Elise, to murder him, and revenge in his blood the dis- 
grace he had brought upon her. But remembering the 
sacred duty he had undertaken of protecting Elise and 
concealing her flight as far as possible, he controlled his 
anger and grief, and forced himself to appear calm and 
collected. 

Elise, in the mean while, with joyful emotion recog- 
nized Bertram. His unexpected and unlooked-for ap- 
pearance did not surprise her, it seemed so natural to 
her that whenever danger threatened he should appear 
as her protector and savior. She had such confidence in 
Bertram’s appearance whenever she stood in need of him, 
that when she saw him, she looked upon herself as saved, 
and protected from every danger which threatened her. 
She motioned Feodor to her side, and with a touch of 
triumphant pride, said to him, “ It is Bertram, the friend 
of my youth. He has risked his life to save me from 
dishonor.” Feodor felt the reproof which lay in the 
intonation of these words, and his brow grew dark. But 
he overcame this momentary irritation, and turning to 
Bertram, who was approaching him with a firm and de- 
termined step, asked him, "Well, sir, whom do you 
seek? ” 

"A young girl who has been carried off by force” 
replied Bertram, and he regarded the young man with 


i 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 203 

angry looks. But Feodor met his glance with firmness 
and composure. “ It is true” said he, “ such an outrage 
has been committed; some Cossacks kidnapped a young 
girl in a garden and brought her here. I myself will 
inform the general of this dishonorable deed, for you un- 
derstand, sir, that this outrage is an insult to us as well 
as to yourself. I have promised my protection to this 
young person, and I am ready to defend her against any 
one who dares to touch her honor or to doubt her virtue. 
Come, now, sir, and see whether this be the same young 
girl whom you seek.” 

He stepped toward Bertram, and as he led him to 
Elise, he whispered rapidly in a low tone. “ Be silent, 
and do not betray her name, for Elise’s honor is at 
stake.” 

He raised the veil, and, pointing to Elise’s abashed 
and blushing countenance, he asked, with a derisive 
laugh, “ Well, now, do you recognize her? Will you 
swear that this is Gotzkowsky ? s daughter? ” 

Bertram looked at him with assumed surprise. 
“ Gotzkowsky’s daughter?” asked he, shrugging his 
Shoulders. “ Why, it is the young lady herself who sent 
me, and no one is looking for her.” 

Colonel Feodor turned with a laugh of triumph to- 
ward his comrades. “ Did I not tell you so? ” cried he. 
“ You credulous fools were hoping to get half a million 
ransom, and I have been bargaining with her for the 
last hour for a hundred dollars. She swears, with tears 
in her eyes, that she is not worth a hundred pence. 
Gotzkowsky’s daughter, indeed! Do you imagine that 
she goes about in a plain white dress, without any orna- 
ment or any thing elegant about her? She is just as 
fond of dress as our own princesses and pretty women, 
and, like them, the daughter of the rich Gotzkowsky is 


204 : 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


never visible except in silk and velvet, with pearls and 
diamonds. Oh! I would like myself to catch the mil- 
lionnaire’s daughter, for then we might bargain for a de- 
cent ransom.” 

“ But who, then, is this woman? ” roared the disap- 
pointed officers. “ Why does the rich Gotzkowsky send 
after her, if she, is not his daughter? ” 

“ Who is she?” cried Feodor, laughing. "Well, 
I will tell you, as you attach so much importance to it. 
You have been served like the seekers after hidden treas- 
ure. You have been seeking for gold, and, instead, you 
have only found coals to burn your fingers. You sought 
after the millionnaire, the rich heiress, and, instead of 
her, you have only caught her — chambermaid.” 

“ A chambermaid! ” growled out his comrades, and 
turning their dark, lowering looks on Bertram, they in- 
quired of him whether this woman were only a chamber- 
maid in Gotzkowsky’s house, and assailed him with re- 
proaches and curses because he had deluded them into 
the belief that Gotzkowsky’s daughter had been cap- 
tured. 

“ If we had not thought so, we would not have let 
you in,” cried Lieutenant von Matusch. “ It was not 
worth while making so much fuss about a little chamber- 
maid.” 

“ It was just for that very reason,” replied Bertram, 
“ and because I knew that you would not otherwise help 
me, that I let you believe it was Gotzkowsky’s daughter 
whom you had captured; otherwise you would never 
have let me come near Colonel von Brenda. And Made- 
moiselle Gotzkowsky had expressly directed me to apply 
to that gentleman, and I did so. You can understand 
my doing so, when I inform you that this young girl is 
my sister! ” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


205 


Feodor turned himself to Elise with an expression 
of anger on his countenance. “ Is this true? ” 

“ is * rue! ” cried she, reaching her hand out to 
Bertram, with a look of heartfelt gratitude. “ He is my 
brother, my faithful brother! ” 

But, as she read in Feodor’s darkened countenance 
the marks of ill-concealed anger and jealousy, she turned 
toward her lover with a rare, sweet smile. “ Oh,” said 
she, “ there is nothing nobler, nothing more sacred and 
unselfish, than the love of a brother.” 


Feodor’s searching look seemed to penetrate into the 
inmost recesses of her heart. Perhaps he read all the 
love, innocence, and strength that lay therein, for his 
brow cleared up, and his looks resumed their open 
cheerfulness. Quickly he took Bertram’s hand and laid 
it in Elise’s. “ Well, then,” said he, “ you happy pair, 
take each other’s hands, and thank God that the danger 
is over. We have nothing to do with young and pretty 
girls — we only want rich ones. Go! ” 

“ no >” cried the officers, “ not at all, not without 
ransom! ” Saying which, they pressed noisily and 
angrily nearer, raising their clinched fists. “ She must 
pay, or we will keep her! ” 

“ Dare one of you touch her? ” cried Feodor, draw- 
ing his sword, and -placing himself in front of Elise. 

“ I have come to fetch my sister,” said Bertram, turn- 
ing to the officers, “ but I knew very well that you would 
not let her go unless her ransom were paid. I therefore 
brought all my little portion with me. f Take this purse 
full of ducats, and let it pay for her.” 

A cry of triumph was the answer from the soldiers 
as they drew Bertram toward the table that he might 
count out the money. While they were dividing it 
among themselves, talking loudly and laughing merrily. 


206 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Feodor remained standing at Elise’s side, neither daring 
to break the impressive silence. Their souls communed 
with each other, and they needed not words nor outward 
signs. At last, after a long pause, Feodor asked — 

“ Are you satisfied now, Elise? ” 

She answered him with a sweet smile, “ I am thine 
forever! ” 

“ And will you never forget this hour? ” 

“ I will not forget it. I will remember that I have 
sworn to follow you voluntarily from my father’s house, 
even against his will.” And letting her blushing face 
droop upon her breast, she whispered, in a voice scarcely 
audible — “ I await you! ” 

But these words, low as they had been spoken, reached 
the ears of two men at the same time. Not only 
Colonel Feodor, hut also Bertram, who had drawn close 
up to Elise again, had overheard them. The first they 
filled with emotions of delight, the other with pain- 
ful anguish. Bertram, however, was accustomed to 
wrestle with his love, and smother the expression of his 
pain, under the appearance of quiet composure. He ap- 
proached Elise, and offered her his hand, said, “ Come 
sister, let us go.” 

“ Yes, go,” said the colonel, with the proud superior- 
ity of a preferred rival. He extended his hand to Ber- 
tram, and continued, “ Be a good brother to her, and 
conduct her safely home.” 

Bertram’s countenance, usually so quiet and calm, 
assumed for an instant an offended and almost con- 
temptuous air, and hitter words were on his tongue; hut 
his angry eye accidentally met Elise’s, anxiously and im- 
ploringly directed toward him. He could not master 
himself sufficiently to accept Feodor’s hand, hut at least 
he could control his anger. “ Come, sister,” said he. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 207 

gently leading Elise toward the door which the colonel 
indicated to him by a silent nod. 

Elise had not the courage to leave her lover without 
a word of farewell; or rather, she was cruel enough to 
inflict this torture on Bertram. Stretching both hands 
toward him, she said softly, “ I thank you, Feodor; God 
and love will reward you for having greatly and nobly 
conquered yourself.” 

Feodor whispered to her, “ And will you remember 
your vow ? ” 

“ Ever and always! ” 

In bending over to kiss her hand, he murmured, 
" Expect me, then, to-morrow.” 

“ I will expect you,” said she, as she passed him on 
her way to the door. 

No word of their whispered conversation escaped the 
attentive ear of Bertram; and he understood it, for he 
loved her, and knew how to read her thoughts in her 
looks and her eyes. As he followed her through the 
long corridor, and her light, graceful figure floated be- 
fore him like a vision, a deep, despairing melancholy 
settled on his heart, and he murmured to himself, “ To- 
morrow she expects him! ” But with desperate deter- 
mination he continued to himself, "Well, then, woe to 
him if I find him going astray! ” 


CHAPTER X. 

AN UNEXPECTED ALLY. 

Thanks to Bertram’s forethought and caution, he 
had succeeded in restoring Elise to her father’s house, 
without her absence having been remarked, or having oc- 


208 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


casioned any surmise. In the close carriage in which 
they performed the journey home, they had not ex- 
changed a word; but leaning back on the cushions, each 
had rest and repose after the stormy and exciting scenes 
they had just passed through. Elise’s hand still rested 
on Bertram’s, perhaps unconsciously, perhaps because 
she had not the courage to withdraw it from him to 
whom she owed so much gratitude. 

Bertram felt the feverish warmth of this trembling 
hand, and as he looked at her and remarked the paleness 
of her cheeks, the painful twitching of her lips, he was 
overcome by a feeling of deep wretchedness, of pitying 
sadness, and was obliged to turn his head away to con- 
ceal his tears from her. 

When the carriage stopped, and he accompanied her 
into the house, Elise pressed his hand more firmly, and 
turned her gaze upon him with a look of deep gratitude, 
which made his heart palpitate with a mixture of de- 
light and anguish. He wished to withdraw, he wished 
to let her hand go, but she held his still more firmly 
clasped, and drew him gently up the steps. Powerless 
with emotion, he followed her. 

As they entered the hall which led to her room, she 
cast a searching look around to see if any one were pres- 
ent, and perceiving that they two were alone, she turned 
toward Bertram with an indescribable expression. She 
tried to speak, but the words died on her lips, a deep 
glow suffused her cheeks, and completely overpowered, 
and giddy from the tumult of her feelings, she leaned 
her head on her friend’s shoulder. 

Gently he passed his arm around her delicate, trem- 
bling figure, and his eyes beamed with a pure emo- 
tion. In the depth of his heart he renewed to God and 
himself his vow of fidelity and self-sacrificing love to 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


209 

this poor girl who lay on his bosom like a droopino- 
flower. 

Suddenly she raised her head, her face wet with 
tears and convulsed with deep feeling. “ Bertram/’ she 
said, I know that I am not worthy of your noble, gener- 
ous love, but yet, in my crushed heart, I thank God that 
I possess it. A time may come when all the thoughts 
and feelings which now fill my soul will appear as vain 
dreams and illusions. It may be that some day I will 
look upon life as a grand delusion, a fruitless striving 
after happiness and repose. But never, my brother, 
never will that time come when I can doubt your faith- 
ful, pure affection. No power, no other feeling, will 
ever succeed in supplanting the deep and boundless 
gratitude which pervades my whole soul and binds me to 
you forever.” 

And then it seemed to him as if he felt the breath 
of an angel wave over his face; as if the dream and 
desire of his whole life had closed his lips in unexpected 
blisg; as if the wishes and hopes of his ardent but re- 
signed heart had been fulfilled, and become a delightful 
reality. 

When he recovered from this sweet dream, which for 
a moment robbed him of his consciousness, Elise had 
disappeared. But her kiss still glowed on his lips, and 
seemed to bless and sanctify his whole life. 

This stream of happiness lasted hut for a short time, 
and Bertram soon awoke, with a sad sigh, from his de- 
lightful fancies, to recall the painful hours he had just 
gone , through, and to say to himself that Elise was lost 
to him forever, that he never could hope to rescue that 
heart from the lover to whom she had yielded it with all 
the devotion of her ardent nature. With a sorrowing 
heart did he remember the last words of the lovers. She 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


210 

had appointed a meeting for him on the morrow, she 
expected him, and, braving the anger of her father, had 
giving him a rendezvous in his house. 

As Bertram thought over this, he paced the room 
up and down, panting with excitement, and wringing 
his hands. “ If Gotzkowsky knew this, he would kill 
her, or die himself of grief. Die of grief! ” continued 
he, after a pause, completely buried in his sad and hitter 
thoughts — “ it is not so easy to die of grief. The sad 
heart is tenacious of life, and sorrow is but a slow grave- 
digger. I have heard that one could die of joy, and it 
seemed to me just now, when Elise rewarded me with a 
kiss, that I could understand this. If she only loved 
me, it were a blessing of God to die, conscious of her 
love.” 

Completely overcome by his painful thoughts, he re- 
mained for a while motionless and sad. But he soon re- 
covered himself, and shook off the dark cloud which 
overshadowed his soul. u I am not born to die such a 
death. It is my destiny not to he happy myself, hut 
to save others from unhappiness. I feel and know that 
Elise cannot be happy in this love. A loving heart is 
gifted with prophetic second sight to read the future. 
Elise can never be happy without her father’s blessing, 
and Gotzkowsky will never give his sanction to this 
love. How can I lead her past this abyss which threatens 
to engulf her? May God, who sees my heart, help 
me! He knows how hopeless and disinterested it is. 
Help me, Father in heaven! show me some way of 
saving her noble father from the grief which lies before 
him.” 

It seemed as if God had heard his prayer, and taken 
compassion on his pure, unselfish spirit, and sent him 
assistance. A loud knocking at the door aroused him 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 211 

suddenly from his gloomy thoughts, and he hastened 
to open it. 

A veiled lady stood there, wrapped in furs, and at- 
tended by a servant in rich livery. In fluent French, 
which it could be perceived, however, was not her native 
tongue, she inquired whether, as she had been told, Herr 
von Brink, Tottleben’s adjutant, resided there. As 
Bertram answered this question in the affirmative, hut 
added, that Herr von Brink was in the habit of not re- 
turning from the general’s quarters before evening, she 
added, in a decided tone, “Well, then, I will wait for 
him.” 

Without deeming Bertram’s consent necessary, she 
entered the hall and motioned to her servant to remain 
at the door. 

After a pause, there ensued between the two one of 
those superficial, ceremonious conversations, the usual 
refuge of those who have nothing to say to each other; 
but the evident uneasiness and confusion of the young 
lady prevented her from joining freely in it. Her large, 
bright eyes strayed restlessly around the room. A hectic 
flush alternated on her cheeks with deathly pallor, and 
the smile, which occasionally played around her lips, 
seemed hut a painful expression of mental suffering. 
Suddenly she raised her head, as if determined no longer 
to hear this constraint, or submit to the fetters of con- 
ventionality. 

“ Sir,” said she, in a tone vibrating with excitement 
and anxiety, “ you will excuse my asking you a question, 
on the answer to which depends my future happiness, 
my life, indeed — to obtain which I have travelled from 
St. Petersburg here. I have just left my carriage in 
which I performed the journey from that city. You 
can therefore judge how important the cause of this 


212 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


undertaking is to me, and what an influence it may have 
on my whole existence. Its object lies in the question 
I am about to put to you.” 

Bertram took pity on her painful agitation. “ Ask,” 
he said, “ and, on the honor of a gentleman, I assure you 
that your question shall be answered truly, and that I 
am ready to serve you as far as it lies in my power.” 

“ Are you acquainted with General Bachmann’s ad- 
jutant?” asked she, shortly and hurriedly. 

“ I am,” replied Bertram. 

She trembled as in an ague. “ I am come to in- 
quire after a man of whom I have not heard for six 
months. I wish to know whether he is alive, or only 
dead to me.” 

“ His name? ” asked Bertram, with painful mis- 
giving. 

Her voice was scarcely audible as she replied: 
“ Colonel Count Feodor von Brenda, of the regiment 
Bachmann.” 

Bertram was quite taken aback by this unexpected 
turn of the conversation, and she continued with great 
excitement, “ You do not answer! oh, have compassion 
on me, and speak! Is he alive? ” 

“ He is alive, and is here,” answered Bertram sadly. 

A cry of delight escaped the lips of the lady. “ He 
lives,” she exclaimed loudly. “ God has then heard my 
prayer, and preserved him to me.” 

But suddenly the cheerful smile on her lips died 
away, and, dropping her head on her breast, she cried, 
“ He is alive, and only dead to me. He is alive, and did 
not write me! ” For a moment she stood in this posi- 
tion, silent and depressed; then drawing herself up erect, 
her eyes sparkling with passionate warmth, she said: 
“ Sir, I crave your pardon for a poor stranger, who hardly 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


213 


knows what she is doing or saying. I am not acquaint 
ed with you, or even your name, but there is something 
in your noble, calm countenance which inspires confi- 
dence.” 

Bertram smiled sadly. “ Fellow-sufferers always feel 
attracted to each other by a community of feeling. I, 
too, am a sufferer, and it is God’s will that our sorrows 
should spring from a common source. The name you 
have uttered is but too well known to me.” 

Tou know Colonel Brenda?” she asked. 

“ I do know him,” answered Bertram. 

The count was at one time a prisoner of war,” con- 
tinued the lady. “ He visited this house frequently, for 
I have been told that it belongs to Mr. Gotzkowsky, of 
whom the colonel wrote me, in the commencement of his 
captivity, that he received him most hospitably.” 

“ Did he write you any word of Gotzkowsky’s hand- 
some daughter ? ” asked Bertram, looking inquiringly 
into the countenance of the stranger. 

She shuddered, and turned pale. “0 Heaven!” 
she murmured low, “ I have betrayed myself! ” 

Bertram seized her hand, his features evincing deep 
emotion. “Will you answer me one question?” he 
asked, and as she bowed her head in silence, he pro- 
ceeded — “is the Count von Brenda your brother? ” 

“ Oh, sir,” she said, with a faint smile, “ one does not 
suffer for a brother as I have suffered for Feodor. I am 
the Countess Sandomir, and Count Feodor is my be- 
trothed. The good empress herself joined our hands, 
and blessed our union. A short time after our mar- 
riage the war broke out, and deprived me of my lover 
and husband. For six months I have had no tidings of 
him, and, tortured by anxiety and apprehension, I re- 
solved to come myself to Germany to seek my betrothed. 


214 : 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


either to bury or nurse him, for I believed he must be 
sick or dead, as he did not return to me.” 

Bertram offered in his heart a prayer of gratitude 
to God. With feelings of sympathy, he then turned 
his eyes on the quivering features of the stranger. “ Lis- 
ten to me,” said he, gently. “ As you entered, I had just 
prayed to God, in the suffering and sadness of my heart, 
to show me some way and means of escape from the 
labyrinth in which Count Brenda has placed us. It 
would seem as if He has had compassion on us all, for at 
the very moment he sends you, the affianced bride of the 
count, and through you alone can, we be saved. We 
must be open and candid toward each other. Therefore, 
listen to me. I love Gotzkowsky’s daughter — I love her 
without hope, for she loves another.” 

“ And this other? ” asked she breathlessly. 

“ She loves Count Feodor von Brenda, and is about 
to escape with him.” 

“ Escape!” cried the lady, and her voice sounded 
threatening and angry, and her eyes flashed. “ Oh! ” 
said she, gnashing her teeth, “ I will prevent this, even 
if I kill this girl! ” 

Bertram shook his head sadly. “Let us rather try 
to kill this love in her heart. Let us contrive some 
means of bringing your lover back to you.” 

“ Are there any such means? ” asked she, anxiously. 

Bertram did not answer immediately. His brow was 
clouded with deep thought, and a heavy sigh escaped 
him. He then asked quickly, “ Will you follow me 
and enter into my plot? ” 

“ I will,” she said firmly. 

“ Above all things, then, let us be cautious. Count 
Feodor must have no suspicion that you are here, for 
your presence would drive him to some desperate re- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


215 


solve, and I fear Elise loves him sufficiently not to draw 
back from any thing.” 

“ You are very cruel,” murmured the lady. “ You 
know not what torture you are preparing for me.” 

If I did not know it, I would not undertake the 
enterprise that is to serve us both. I have told you that 
I love Elise, but I have not told you how deep and sacred 
this love is. I would cheerfully venture my life for her, 
hut now I dare to interfere with her love, and earn her 
hatred.” 

“ You have, then, already made your plan? ” 

“ I h ave made my plan, and if you will allow me to 
escort you to your hotel, I will disclose it to you, so that 
we may arrange the particulars together.” 

Come, then,” said she, grasping his hand warmly, 
and may God assist us, and restore to you your bride, 
and to me my lover! ” 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE JEW EPHRAIM. 

Much sorrow and tribulation were suffered during 
this time by the inhabitants of Berlin. But the saddest 
lot of all fell to the Jews, who were threatened with the 
greatest danger. In Berlin, as everywhere else, they 
only led a tolerated, reviled, and derided existence. 
They possessed no rights, only duties; no honor, only 
insults; no dignities, hut humiliation and disgrace. 
Now they were called on to give up the last and only 
thing which shed some gleam of brightness on their 
poor, down-trodden existence — their gold and their 
treasures. 


216 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


The Russian commander had imposed upon the J ew- 
ish community in Berlin a special tax; and as they hesi- 
tated about paying it, and declared themselves incapable 
of raising such a large sum, General von Tottlehen had 
the three elders of the Jews arrested and strictly guarded 
in the Vincenti House in Brueder Street. 

But who could despise or blame the poor Jews for 
not wishing to give up their gold? Gold was to them a 
condition of existence, their future, their happiness, 
their family. Gold enabled some of them to raise them- 
selves from the dust and degradation to which the cruel 
severity of Christian charity had condemned them, and 
to indulge in human aspirations, human happiness, and 
human feelings. Only those among them who possessed 
wealth were tolerated, and dared hope by strenuous in- 
dustry, ceaseless activity, and fortunate speculation, to 
amass sufficient fortune to found a family or beget chil- 
dren. The happiness of domestic life was only allowed 
to them on condition of their being rich. 

Frederick the Great had learned with indignation 
that the Jewish families in Berlin far exceeded the 
number of one hundred and fifty-two allowed by law, 
and that there were fifty-one too many. Consequently 
a stringent decree was issued that they should no longer 
be counted by families, hut by heads, and that when the 
poll exceeded the permitted number, the poorest and 
lowest of them should he shipped off.* Gold was there- 
fore to the rich Jew a certificate of naturalization, while 
the poorer ones had no certainty of a home. They could 
at any moment he turned off, driven out of Berlin, if a 
richer one should by his wealth and trading acquire the 
right to take to himself a wife, and by her have a child. 
But even he, the rich one, could only have one child; 

* Biisching’s Travels, 1780. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


217 


only one child was allowed to him by law. For one 
child only could he obtain legal protection, and only in 
exceptional cases, as when their factories and firms suc- 
ceeded remarkably well, did the king, in the fulness of 
his grace, allow a second child to inherit its guardian- 
ship.* 

Of what avail, then, was it to the poor Jews to have 
toiled and worked so hard, driven by the necessity of 
paying the hateful J ewish poll-tax , and thereby procur- 
ing for themselves a temporary toleration? At any mo- 
ment they could be driven off in case the rich Ephraim 
or the rich David Itzig, in the arrogance of their wealth, 
should venture to give to the world more than one child, 
and purchase for the sum of three thousand dollars 
another certificate of protection for the second! Of 
what avail was their wealth even to the rich Jews 
Ephraim and Itzig? They were nevertheless under the 
ban of their proscribed race. Mo privileges, no offices ex- 
isted for them. They could only build factories or carry 
on commerce. All other paths of life, even agriculture 
and horticulture, were forbidden to them. And now 
they were called on to give up to the Russians their very 
life, the nerve of their existence, the heart which carried 
blood and warmth to their entire organization — their 
money. 

Ephraim and Itzig were rich and powerful in Berlin; 
they could build houses, found factories, and even deter- 
mine the value of money, for the mint was in their 
hands. They had farmed it from the king, and paid 
him an enormous rent for the same, which had increased 
each year, and in 1760 amounted to seven millions. 
But, thanks to this farming, the value of money had in- 
creased exorbitantly. Twenty dollars were paid for a 
* “ Annals of the Jews in the Prussian States,” Berlin. — Unger. 


218 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

Frederick d*or, and five-and-thirty for the mark of fine 
silver. Owing to the labors of these Jewish lessees, there 
were many millions of light money, many millions of 
bad eight-groschen pieces, which, to this day, are known 
by the name of Ephraimites, and whose repudiation at 
a later period ruined many thousands of honest, worthy 
tradesmen, while Ephraim and Itzig became wealthy and 
powerful thereby. Yet it was now this same money 
which brought misfortune to them, and was the cause 
of their suffering and mortal anxiety; for General Tottle- 
ben had threatened that if the Jews could not pay the 
tax imposed on them, he would take the mint farmers 
with him as hostages, and destroy their factories. Be- 
sides this, he had, as we said before, arrested their elders 
and sworn to send them to Siberia, if the Jews did not 
pay. 

The payment was to he made in three days. But 
the three days had elapsed, and they had not been able 
to raise the money which was demanded of them. In 
this dire extremity, the two mint-contractors remem- 
bered the man whom they had hitherto most cordially 
hated, and whose ruin was the cherished wish of their 
life. They now recollected that John Gotzkowsky was 
the only man who, in the generosity and kindness of his 
heart, was capable of forgetting their former insults 
and injuries, and of remembering only their need and 
misery. They determined, therefore, to apply to him, 
and request his intercession and assistance, but they did 
this with a bitter sigh, for they felt the hatred and 
grudge which they nursed in their hearts toward him 
become only more intense and stronger. 

“Who would have thought it?” said Ephraim, as, 
by the side of Itzig, and accompanied by some of the 
most wealthy Jewish merchants, he took the road to 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 2 19 

Gotzkowsky’s dwelling— “ who would have thought it? 
The powerful Russian General yon Tottleben is the 
friend of Gotzkowsky, and the greatest men among our 
people are now obliged to go to Gotzkowsky’s house to 
implore his influence and protection.” 

“Yes,” sighed the rich merchant David, “we are 
obliged to apply to him to befriend us, and yet what is he 
compared to you? You are much richer than he is.” 

“ Silence, unfortunate man! ” cried Ephraim with a 
shudder, as he looked shyly around. “ I am poor, and 
for that reason can pay nothing. I am poor, as all of us 
wretched Jews are. Have we not to contribute the 
greater portion of the war-tax? Are not all our means 
exhausted ? Is that not enough ? ” 

“Too much!” groaned Itzig, who till now had 
walked in melancholy contemplation at Ephraim’s other 
side. “ It is too much. Are we then treated like hu- 
man beings? Have we any rights? Only when we 
have to pay, do they remember that we have the right 
of giving up our hard-earned property. If the Jew has 
no money, is he not at least a man, say I? ” 

“Pshaw! a man!” cried Ephraim. “Whoever is 
without money is no man, be he Jew or Christian. If 
Gotzkowsky had no money, he would be no better than 
we are. Why does the Russian general have any thing 
to do with him? Because he is rich. Why do the counts 
and lords pay court to him? For the same reason. 
Why do they call his daughter an angel, and swear she is 
the handsomest woman in Berlin? Because her father 
is the richest Christian merchant in the town. The 
whole world knows and admires him. And why? Be- 
cause he is rich.” 

“No one is rich,” said Itzig, shaking his head. “ He 
who has not every thing is not rich. There is no such 


220 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


thing as riches, for he who has much has to give 
much.” 

“ God knows we will have to give much! ” whim- 
pered Ephraim, and all his companions joined in with 
groans and sighs as a chorus to his speech. “ They 
mean to take every thing from us that we own, and Itzig 
is right; if the Jew has not money, he is nobody. Have 
we not suffered as much as others? Have we not pro- 
tected our people, and fed and housed our poor? No 
one talks about these things, but the whole town talks 
about Gotzkowsky. They praise him, they exalt him; 
they cry out his name everywhere, so that one’s heart 
actually burns for vexation. And yet at the highest 
calculation he is not worth more than a million.” 

“ He is worth more than ourselves; he is worth much 
more, for he has the favor of the Russian general. For 
this reason we must how down before him, and flatter 
him, and assure him of our eternal gratitude, for it is a 
question not of life, hut what is more precious than life 
■ — money.” 

With deep-drawn sighs they whined out, “ Yes, we 
must how to him, and flatter him, and yet we are richer 
than he is.” 

As long as they were on the street they maintained an 
air of pride and vexation; hut as soon as they entered 
Gotzkowsky’s house and stood in his presence, they were 
all gentleness, humility, and friendliness. With tears 
they implored Gotzkowsky to have pity, and to heg Gen- 
eral Tottleben to have compassion on them. They 
vowed eternal gratitude to him, and swore with solemn 
oaths that if he succeeded in relieving the Jews from the 
special impost, they would love him forever, and he ever- 
lastingly thankful to him. 

Gotzkowsky smiled in pity. “ That means that you 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


221 


would feel yourselves under obligations to me, and, if 
ever you got me in your power, you would take the op- 
portunity to ruin me. But that is' of no consequence 
to me. This impost is a crying injustice, and therefore 
will I plead for you, for it never shall be said that Gotz- 
kowsky suffered an injustice to be done when he could 
prevent it. Go home in peace, for, if I can, I will help 
you.” 

“ How arrogant this man is! ” said Itzig, when they 
had left the house. “ One would suppose that he had all 
virtue and honor on lease, just as we have the mint.” 

“ And if he has,” said Ephraim with a laugh, “ if he 
has the monopoly of virtue and honor, it is only to trade 
on. No doubt his speculation will turn out just as 
profitably as ours with the mint. No doubt he will 
coin it into light eight-groschen pieces, cheat the people 
with them, and make more than his expenses, as we have 
done.” 

“ But woe be unto him,” growled Itzig, “ if any light 
coin of his virtue come into my hands! I will throw 
them back into his face till blood flows, and I will never 
forgive him that this day we have had to stand before 
him begging and pleading. If he ever comes to grief, 
I will remember it. If the Jew has no money, he is no- 
body. Well, we will see what Gotzkowsky is worth with- 
out money. Let me tell you we will all of us live to see 
that day. He has too much stupid generosity, which 
some day or other will run away with his purse, and then 
there will be a grand blow-up, honor and virtue and all, 
sky high. Then there will be no more talk about the 
great Gotzkowsky and his virtue and all that. Oh! I do 
so rejoice over that time a-coming. But in the mean 
time I am so very glad that Gotzkowsky can be of some 

service to us! ” 

15 


222 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE RUSSIAN GENERAL AND THE GERMAN MAN. 

Scarcely had the Jewish deputation left Gotzkow- 
sky’s house, before he betook himself, full of the impor- 
tant information received from General Bachmann, to 
General Tottleben’s residence, fully determined to ven- 
ture every thing to prevent the execution of the cruel 
order which threatened the factories and other branches 
of industry. But this was not the sole object which led 
him there. He went there as a representative of the 
whole town. Every one who needed assistance applied 
to him, and to each one he had promised to intercede 
for him. Laden with petitions and commissions from 
the magistracy, the merchants, and the citizens of Ber- 
lin, he entered the Russian general’s quarters. Deeply 
inspired with the importance of his commission, he trav- 
ersed the halls which led to the general’s private apart- 
ments, saying to himself, “ This is the most important 
mission I have ever undertaken, for the welfare of the 
whole town depends upon it — a million dollars depend 
upon every word I may utter. Many a struggle have I 
had in these days, but this is the hardest of them all, 
and victory hangs on my tongue.” 

With beaming countenance and sparkling eyes, with 
his whole being animated with the sacredness of his 
office, he entered the cabinet of the Russian general. 
Tottleben did not offer him, as heretofore, a friendly 
welcome. He did not even raise his eyes from the dis- 
patches which he was in the act of reading, and his con- 
tracted brows and the whole expression of his counte- 
nance was such as to discourage any petition or pleading. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


223 


At this moment General von Tottleben was a true Rus- 
sian, and, thanks to General Fermore’s dispatches, he 
had succeeded in suppressing his German sympathy. 
At least he flattered himself that he had, and for that 
reason he avoided meeting Gotzkowsky’s clear, bright 
eye. 

Without taking any notice, he finished reading the 
papers, and then rose and walked about the room. After 
a while he seemed as if by accident to perceive Gotzkow- 
sky’s presence, and stopped short. “Have you come 
back already ? ” he asked in a sullen, grumbling tone. 
“ I know very well that you have returned to beg for all 
sorts of useless trash; I can’t hear such eternal begging 
and whining — a pitiful rabble that is all the time creep- 
ing to our feet.” 

“ Yes, your excellency, it is nothing but a poor, piti- 
ful rabble,” said Gotzkowsky with a smile; “ and for this 
very reason the Russians are despised all over Europe. 
Toward the high and mighty they behave like fawning 
hounds, and toward the low and humble they are rude 
and arrogant.” 

“ I am not speaking of the Russians,” cried the gen- 
eral, as he turned his lowering countenance toward Gotz- 
kowsky, “ I am speaking of you. All day long you have 
done nothing but beg and demand.” 

But Gotzkowsky met him with quiet and smiling 
composure. “Pardon, your excellency, it is you who 
demand; and because you are all the time demanding, 
I must all the time be begging. And, in fact, I am only 
begging for yourself.” 

Tottleben looked at him in inquiring astonishment, 
but in silence. “ I am not begging for favor,” continued 
Gotzkowsky, “but for justice; and if you grant this, 
why, it is so much gained for you. Then, indeed, the 


224 : 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


world will esteem yon as not only brave, but just; and 
then only will history honor you as truly great— the 
equitable and humane conqueror. The Vandals, too, 
conquered by the sword; and if it only depended on 
mere brute strength, wild bulls would be the greatest 
generals.” 

Tottleben cast a fierce, angry look toward him. 
“ For that reason,” cried he, threateningly, “ he is a fool 
who irritates a wild bull.” 

Gotzkowsky bowed and smiled. “ It is true one 
should. never show him a red cloak. A firm, unterri- 
fied countenance is the only way to tame him. The bull 
is powerless against the mind which beams out of the 
human eye.” 

It was very probably the very boldness of this answer 
which pleased the general, accustomed as he was to 
Russian servility. His features assumed a softer ex- 
pression, and he said, in a milder tone: “You are an 
extraordinary man, and there is no use in contend- 
ing with you. One is obliged to do whatever you wish. 
Well, now— quick, out with it— what do you want 
of me? ” 

“Justice,” said Gotzkowsky. “You gave me your 
word that your soldiers should not rob nor plunder, and, 
notwithstanding, they do it.” 

“ That is not true! ” thundered the general. 

“ It is true,” replied Gotzkowsky, calmly. 

“Who dares to contradict me?” cried Tottleben, 
trembling with rage, and striding toward Gotzkowsky. 

“ I dare,” answered the latter, “ if you call that ‘ to 
dare ’ which is only convincing you of your error. I, 
myself, have seen your soldiers striking down the flying 
women with the butts of their muskets, robbing and 
plundering the houses. Your orders have been but 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


225 


poorly obeyed; and your soldiers almost equal the Aus- 
trians in rudeness and violence.” 

A light smile played over Tottleben’s countenance. 
Gotzkowsky had understood how to soften his anger. 
“ Almost— only,” said he, “ woe be to my soldiers if they 
equal the Austrians in rudeness! ” With hasty steps he 
traversed the apartment, and called his adjutant. 
“ Sen d patrols through the whole town,” was his order 
to the officer as he entered, “ and give orders to all the 
soldiers to maintain strict discipline. Whoever dares to 
plunder, is guilty of disobedience to military orders, and 
shall be tried by military law. The gallows for thieves 
and marauders — say so to my men; they know that Gen- 
eral Tottleben keeps his word. Are you satisfied now? ” 
he asked Gotzkowsky, as the adjutant left the room. 

I thank your excellency,” said Gotzkowsky, hesi- 
tating. 

“ Thank God that at last you are satisfied, and have 
nothing more to ask! ” cried Tottleben, almost cheer- 
fully. 

“ But indeed I have a great deal yet to ask, and if 
you allow me I will ask your excellency a question. You 
have just issued an order. How high up does this order 
reach ? ” 

“How high up? ” asked the general, surprised. 

“ I mean does this order which forbids the soldiers 
from robbing and plundering under pain of death, affect 
only the common private, or must the higher officers 
also obey it ? ” 

“ I would advise every one to do so,” cried Tottleben, ’ 
with a harsh laugh. “ The order is for all.” 

“Even the highest officers?” 

“ Hot even the generals are excepted.” 

“ Then, sir,” said Gotzkowsky, drawing himself up 


226 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


and advancing a step toward the general, “ I accuse be- 
fore you an officer who has had the presumption to dis- 
obey your general order. You forbid, under severe pen- 
alty, robbery and plundering, and yet he is intent on 
them. You have strictly ordered the army to preserve 
discipline, and not to ill-treat nor abuse the defenceless, 
and yet a general is about to do it.” 

“ Who dares that? Give me the name of this gen- 
eral! ” 

“ It is General von Tottleben,” answered Gotzkow- 
sky, quietly. 

Count Tottleben stepped back and gazed at him in 
amazement. 

Gotzkowsky did not lower his eyes, but met his flash- 
ing glance firmly. “ Are you beside yourself?” asked 
the general, after a long pause. “ Is your life such a 
burden to you that you are determined to lose it? ” 

“ If my head were to fall, it would only be a con- 
firmation of what I have asserted — that General von 
Tottleben issues an order, and does not respect it him- 
self; that while he forbids his soldiers to rob and steal, 
under penalty of death, even he commits those very 
offences.” 

The excess of this boldness had the effect upon the 
general on which Gotzkowsky had calculated. He had 
speculated somewhat on the leonine nature of Tottle- 
ben’s character. 

The general, instead of annihilating his foolhardy 
antagonist, found pleasure in his presumption, and it 
flattered him that he was esteemed too magnanimous to 
revenge himself for a few words of insult. 

“ Look here, my friend, you are so outrageously bold 
that you make me laugh. For the sake of its rarity, I 
will hear you out, and try to remain cool. Speak on. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


227 

then. Accuse me— but woe to you if I justify myself! 
Fail not to prove what you say.” 

“ The proverb says, ‘ Small thieves are hung, while 
great ones go free/ ” replied Gotzkowsky, shrugging his 
shoulders. “ You wish to prove the truth of this 
proverb. The soldier who enters the house for theft 
and plunder, you condemn; but you acquit the general 
who devastates a whole town, and in the arrogance of his 
victory wishes to make himself, like Erostratos, immor- 
tal by incendiarism and arson.” 

“ 1)0 not presume too much on my forbearance,” in- 
terrupted Tottleben, stretching his arm out threatening- 
ly toward the bold speaker. “ Erostratos was a violator 
of temples.” 

Tou are not less one!” cried Gotzkowsky; “you 
mean, with impious hand, to cast a firebrand into the 
holy temple of labor. Erostratos only destroyed the 
temple of an imaginary deity; but you, sir, are worse— 
you wish to destroy factories! ” 

“ Do you know what that means? ” 

“ It means to deprive the poor man of the morsel 
of bread which, by the sweat of his brow, he has earned 
for his wife and children ! It means to rob him who pos- 
sesses nothing hut the craft of his hands and Ms body, 
of his only right— the right to work. You are going to 
destroy the gold and silver manufactories, to burn the 
warehouse, to tear down the brass works in the Yew 
Town Eberswald! And why all this? Why do you in- 
tend to leave behind you this memorial of your van- 
dalism? Because your empress is angry with our king! ” 
“Because enemies wish to revenge themselves on 
enemies,” interrupted the general. 

“Do that!” cried Gotzkowsky, warmly. “Re- 
venge yourself on your enemy, if you consider the de- 


228 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


struction of his property a noble revenge. Destroy the 
king’s palaces; rob him, if you choose, of his most en- 
nobling enjoyment! Hob him of his pictures; do like 
the Saxons, who yesterday destroyed Charlottenburg. 
Send your soldiers to my house; there hang splendid 
paintings bought by me in Italy by the king’s order. 
I know that our noble king anticipates much pleasure 
in carrying them some day to Sans Souci. But re- 
venge yourself, take these pictures, set fire to these 
nojfie works of art, but spare what belongs to the poor 
man! ” 

He spoke with noble warmth, with glowing elo- 
quence, and against his will Tottleben’s German heart 
was touched, and moved him to clemency and compas- 
sion. But he would not listen to it. General Fermore’s 
dispatches lay before him, and compelled him to be 
harsh. 

“ You think you speak wisely, and yet you talk noth- 
ing but impudent nonsense,” said he, with assumed se- 
verity. “Who thinks of destroying the poor man’s 
property? The royal property shall be destroyed, and 
nothing else.” 

“ But the gold and silver manufactories and the ware- 
house are not the property of the king,” said Gotzkow- 
sky quickly. “ Hot a penny goes thence into the king’s 
treasury.” 

The general’s countenance brightened up consider- 
ably. “ Hot into the king’s treasury? ” said he; “ where, 
then, does it go? ” 

“ The money, your excellency, which is earned at the 
gold and silver factories and at the warehouse is devoted 
to a praiseworthy and touching purpose. Perhaps you 
are a father — have children; and when you go into bat- 
tle you think of them, and utter a silent prayer, intrust- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


229 

ing them to God’s care, and praying that they may not 
be left orphans.” 

Count Tottleben muttered some untelligible words, 
and stretched out his hand deprecatingly. His lips 
trembled, and to conceal his agitation he turned away. 

Gotzkowsky cried out joyously: “ Oh, I see in your 
eyes that you are vainly trying to compel yourself to look 
at me in anger. Yes, you are a father. Well, then, 
father, spare the orphans! From the proceeds of the 
gold and silver factories, and the warehouse, the new, 
large orphan-house in Potsdam is supported. Oh, you 
cannot be so cruel as to deprive the poor children, whom 
the pitiless war has rendered fatherless, of their last sup- 
port, of their last refuge! ” 

The general stepped up to him, and grasped his hand. 
“God be my witness that I will not! But is this so 
certainly? Do you speak the truth?” 

“ Yes, it is the truth! ” 

“ Can you swear to it ? ” 

“ Yes, with the most sacred oath.” 

The general paced the room in silence several times, 
and then, pausing before Gotzkowsky, laid his. hand on 
his shoulder. “ Listen,” said he. “ I have often been 
reproached at home for being too soft and pitiful. But 
never mind! I will once more follow my own inclination, 
and act in spite of the orders which I have received. 
You must help me. Put all that you have just stated 
down on paper. Write down that these buildings are 
not the property of the king, but of the orphan-house. 
Swear to it with a sacred oath, and affix your signature 
and seal. Will yoh do this? ” 

“ Gladly will I do it,” cried Gotzkowsky, his face 
radiant. “Never have I signed my name with a hap- 
pier heart than I will have when I sign it to this affidavit. 


230 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


which will procure for us both the heart-felt blessings of 
so many children.” 

He stepped to the general’s writing-table, and, fol- 
lowing his direction, seated himself and wrote. 

Tottleben in the mean while walked up and down 
pensively, his arms folded. His features wore a thought- 
ful and mild expression. Ho trace of the late angry 
storm was visible. Once he stopped, and murmured in 
a low voice: “ Orphans one dare not plunder. Eliza- 
beth has a tender heart, and if she learns the reason of 
my disobedience, she will he content. Yes, my course 
is the right one.” 

“ I have finished, sir,” said Gotzkowsky, standing up 
and handing him the paper on which he had written. 

Tottleben read it over carefully, and laid it alongside 
of the dispatches to his empress. He then called to his 
adjutant and ordered him immediately to place strong 
safeguards over the gold and silver manufactories and 
the warehouse, and to protect these against any attack. 

Gotzkowsky clasped his hands, and directed his eyes 
to heaven with joyful gratitude, and in the deep emotion 
of his heart he did not perceive that the general again 
stood before him, and was looking at him with inquiring 
sympathy. His voice first awakened him from his rev- 
erie. “Are you contented now?” asked Tottleben, in 
a friendly tone. 

“Content, general,” said Gotzkowsky, shaking his 
head, “ only belongs to him who lies in his coffin.” 

Again the general’s brow grew dark. “ What is 
troubling you now? Don’t hesitate — ” 

“ To speak on, your excellency? ” inquired Gotz- 
kowsky, with a gentle smile. 

“Ho — to put yourself in your coffin,” answered the 
other, rudely. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


231 


“ I ^ ave n °t time for that, as yet/’ replied Gotzkow- 
sky, sadly. Both of us, general, have still too much 

to do. You have to add fresh laurels to your old ones 

I have to clear thistles and thorns from the path of my 
fellow-men.” 

“Ah! there are more thorns, then?” asked Tottle- 
ben, as he sank down into a chair, and regarded Gotz- 
kowsky with evident benevolence. 

“ A great many yet, sir,” answered Gotzkowsky, sigh- 
ing. “ Our whole body is bloody from them.” 

“ Then call on the regimental surgeon to cure you,” 
said Tottleben, with a coarse laugh. 

“ You only can cure us,” said Gotzkowsky, seriously, 
“for only you are able to inflict such severe wounds. 
You are not satisfied with having conquered and hu- 
miliated us, but you wish to tread us in the dust, and 
make our cheeks, which were pale with sadness, now 
redden with shame. You have ordered that the citizens 
of Berlin should be disarmed. You are a brave soldier, 
sir, and honor courage above all things. Now, let me 
ask you, how could you bear to exhibit the certificate of 
your cowardice? Could you survive it? You look at 
me in anger — the very question makes you indignant; 
and if that is your feeling, why would you subject the 
citizens of Berlin to such disgrace? With our weapons 
we have fought for our just rights and our liberty. God 
has willed it that we should be subdued nevertheless, and 
that you should be the conquerors. But methinks it 
would redound more to your honor to be the conquerors 
of honorable men than of cowardly slaves! And when 
you require of us, the conquered, that we shall give up 
our manly honor, our weapons, you convert us into abject 
cowards, and deprive yourselves of all honor in having 
conquered us. Let us then, sir, keep our weapons; leave 


232 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


us this one consolation, that on our tombstones can be 
inscribed: ‘ Freedom died, but with arms in her hand! ? ” 
and Gotzkowsky, quite overcome by his painful emo- 
tions, leaned hack against the wall, breathless, his im- 
ploring looks fixed upon the general. 

But the latter avoided meeting his eyes, and directed 
his own darkly toward the ground. 

Gotzkowsky perceived the indecision, the wavering 
of the general, and he felt that he must now risk every 
thing to overcome his resistance. “ Leave us our 
weapons. Oh, you are a German! spare your German 
brethren.” 

Tottleben sprang from his seat as if a venomous 
snake had stung him. Dark and terrible were his fea- 
tures, his eyes flashed fire, and raising his right hand 
threateningly, he cried out: “ You remind me in an evil 
hour that I am a German. Germany drove me out to 
find in a foreign land the appreciation which my own 
country refused me! Had I been a foreigner, Germany 
would long ago have proclaimed my fame; but, being 
the son of the family, the mother drives me out among 
strangers — and that they call German good-nature! ” and 
he broke out into a bitter, scornful laugh. 

“ It is but too true,” said Gotzkowsky, sadly. “ Our 
mother Germany is fond of sending her greatest sons out 
from home on their pilgrimage to fame. For her great 
men she has but the cradle and the grave. But show 
your unfeeling mother that you are better than she is; 
prove to her how unjust she has been. Be magnanimous, 
and leave us our weapons! ” 

“ I cannot, by Heaven! I cannot do it,” said Tottle- 
ben, sadly, in a low tone. "I must obey the higher 
authorities above me — the empress and the commander- 
in-chief, General Fermore. My orders are very strict* 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


233 


and I have already yielded too much. It is written in 
these dispatches that the arms must be given up.” 

“ The arms? ” said Gotzkowsky, hastily. “ Yes, but 
not all arms. Take some of them — we have three hun- 
dred inferior rifles— take them, sir, and fulfil the letter 
of your orders, and save our honor.” 

General von Tottleben did not answer immediately. 
Again he paced the room, from time to time casting 
sharp, piercing glances at Gotzkowsky, whose firmness 
and animation seemed to please him. He stopped sud- 
denly, and asked in a voice so low that Gotzkowsky 
was scarcely able to distinguish the words— “ Do you 
think the Germans will praise me, if I do this thing? ” 

“All Germany will say, ‘ He was great in victory, 
still greater in his clemency toward the conquered/” 
cried Gotzkowsky, warmly. 

The general dropped his head upon his breast in 
deep meditation. When he raised it again, there was a 
pleasant smile upon his face. “ Well, then, I will do 
it. I will once more remember that I am a German. 
Where are the three hundred rifles?” 

“In the armory, sir.” 

The general made no reply, hut stepped toward his 
writing-table hastily. He wrote off a few lines, and then 
with a loud voice called his adjutant again to him. As 
the latter entered, he handed him the writing. “Let 
the disarming take place. There are not more than three 
hundred muskets. Let the citizens bring them to the 
Palace Square. There they will he broken up, and 
thrown into the river.” 

“ 0 general ! ” cried Gotzkowsky, his countenance 
radiant with delight, when the adjutant had left the 
room, “ how I do wish at this moment that you were a 
woman! ” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


23L 

« I a woman! ” cried Count Tottleben, laughing, 
“ why should I be a woman? ” 

“ That I might kiss your hand. Believe me, I never 
thanked any man so truly and sincerely as I now do you! 
I am so proud to be able to say, 6 Berlin is conquered, 
but not dishonored ! 5 ” 

Tottleben bowed amicably toward him. “ Now, after 
this proof of my generosity, the town will hasten to pay 
its war-tax, will it not? ” Then seeing the dark cloud 
which gathered on Gotzkowsky’s brow, he continued 
with more vehemence, “ You are very dilatory in paying. 
Be careful how you exhaust my patience.” 

“ Pray let me know, sir, when it is exhausted,” said 
Gotzkowsky. “ It is cruel to drive an exhausted animal 
beyond his strength. Do you not think so? ” 

The general nodded his assent in silence. 

“ You are of my opinion,” cried Gotzkowsky. “ Well, 
then, you will be just, and not exact of this exhausted 
city, wearied unto death, more than she can perform.” 

With glowing words and persuasive eloquence he ex- 
plained to the general how impossible it was for the 
city to pay the demanded war contribution of four 
millions. 

Tottleben let himself again be persuaded. In the 
presence of this ardent, eloquent German patriot, his 
German heart resumed its power, and compelled him to 
mercy and charitableness. He consented to reduce the 
tax to two millions of dollars, if Gotzkowsky would 
guarantee the punctual payment of the bonds given by 
the body of merchants, and give two hundred thousand 
of it in cash down, as hush-money to the Austrians. 

The latter declared himself gladly willing to accept 
the orders, and to stand security with his whole fortune 
for their payment. Both then remained silent, as if fa- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


235 


tigued by the long and severe war of words, from which 
Gotzkowsky had always come out victorious. 

The general stood at the window, looking into the 
street. Perhaps he was waiting for Gotzkowsky to 
give vent to his warm and delighted gratitude before 
he took leave. But Gotzkowsky did neither the one 
nor the other. He remained with folded arms, his 
countenance full of earnest courage and bold determina- 
tion. 


I will finish what I have commenced,” said he to 
himself. “ I will keep my word, and not move from the 
spot before I have pleaded for all those to whom I prom- 
ised my assistance. The general is at liberty to curse my 
importunity, if I only do my duty toward my fellow- 
citizens.” As he still remained silent, Tottleben turned 
toward him laughingly. 

What, said he, “ are you dumb? Is your eloquence 
exhausted? Indeed, when I think of all that you have 
got out of me to-day, it almost makes me smile.” And 


he broke out into a merry, good-natured laugh. 

Well, laugh, sir,” said Gotzkowsky, “ I know you 
are fond of a laugh. For example, you have just played 
a little joke on the Jews, and made them believe that 
they have to pay an imposition — ” 

“Made believe?” interrupted Tottleben, hastily. 
“Man! be satisfied that I have remitted two millions to 
the citizens. Don’t speak up now for the Jews.” 

“ But the J ews are a part of the citizens.” 

“Are you crazy, man?” cried Tottleben, violently. 
“ Is the Jew a citizen with you? ” 

“Yes,” answered Gotzkowsky, “as far as paying 
goes. The Jew is obliged honestly to contribute his 
proportion of the war-tax. How can you, with any 
semblance of justice, require of him another further tax. 


236 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

when he has already, in common with us, given up all he 
possesses? ** 

“Sir,” cried Tottleben, with suppressed vexation, 
“ this is enough, and more than enough! ” 

“ No,” said Gotzkowsky, smiling. “ It is too much. 
The J ews are not able to pay it — ” 

“ I will remit their contribution,” cried the general, 
stamping violently on the floor, “ to please you — just to 
get rid of you — but now — ■” 

“ But now,” interrupted Gotzkowsky, insinuatingly, 
“ one more favor.” 

The general stepped hack astounded, and looked at 
Gotzkowsky with a species of comical terror. “ Do you 
know that I am almost afraid of you, and will thank God 
when you are gone? ” 

“ Then you think of me as the whole town of Berlin 
thinks of you,” said Gotzkowsky. 

The general laughed. “Your impudence is aston- 
ishing. Well, quick, what is your last request? ” 

“ They are preparing at the New Market a rare and 
unheard-of spectacle — a spectacle, general, as yet un- 
known in Germany. You have brought it with you 
from Russia. You are going to make two men run the 
gantlet of rods — not two soldiers convicted of crime, 
but two writers, who have only sinned in spirit against 
you, who have only exercised the free and highest right 
of man — the right to say what they think . You are going 
to have two newspaper writers scourged, because they 
drew their quills against you. Is not that taking a bar- 
barous revenge for a small offence? ” 

“ A small offence,” cried the general, whose counte- 
nance had resumed its dark, fierce expression. “ Come, 
that’s enough. Stop, if you do not wish me to take 
back all that I have granted you. Do you call that a 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


237 

small offence? Why, sir, the editor of Spener’s Journal 
called me an adventurer, a renegade. Ah! he at least 
shall feel that I have the power of punishing.” 

“ Why,” said Gotzkowsky calmly, “ that would only 
prove to him that he had hit you on a tender spot.” 

“ And the scribbler of the Vossian Gazette, did he 
not venture even to attack my gracious empress?” con- 
tinued Tottleben, perfectly carried away by his indig- 
nation. “ He wrote a conversation between peasants, 
and in it he made fun of the empress. He even went 
so far as to make his own king join in the dirty talk, in 
the character of a peasant. Sir, I am very much sur- 
prised that you should defend a man who carries his 
impudence so far as to canvass and scandalize the con- 
duct of his own king in such a disrespectful and auda- 
cious manner.” 

“ The king is great enough to be able to bear this 
calumny of little minds. Whosoever is truly great, is 
not afraid of free speaking nor of calumny. Have you 
never heard the story of how the king was riding by, 
where the people were collected at the corner of a street, 
stretching out their necks to read a pasquinade which 
had been hung on the wall, and was directed against the 
king himself? The king reigned in his horse, and read 
the hand-bill. The people stood in silent terror, for 
the paper contained a sharp abuse of the king, and a libel 
on him in verse. What does your excellency think the 
king did when he had read this most treasonable pla- 
card? ” 

“ He had the mob cut it down, as it deserved to be, 
and the author strung up on the gallows,” cried Tottle- 
ben. 

“Not at all, sir,” replied Gotzkowsky. “He said, 

‘ Let the paper be hung lower; the people can’t see to 
16 


238 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


read it up so high.’ He then saluted the crowd, and 
rode off, laughing.” 

« Did the great Fritz do that? ” said Tottlehen, un- 
consciously using the epithet which the Prussian people 
had applied to their king. 

“ He did it because he is great,” replied Gotzkowsky. 

“ Strange, hard to believe,” muttered the general, 
folding his arms, and striding up and down. After a 
pause, Gotzkowsky inquired, “Would you not like to 
emulate the great king, general? ” 

Count Tottlehen awoke from his reverie. Approach- 
ing Gotzkowsky, he laid his hand upon his shoulder, his 
expression was indescribably mild and gentle, and a 
melancholy smile played around his lips. “ Hark’ee, I 
believe it would do me good if we could he always to- 
gether. Come with me. Settle in Russia. The em- 
press has heard of you, and I know that she would be re- 
joiced if you came to Petersburg. Do it. You can 
make a large fortune there. The empress’s favor will 
elevate you, and she will not let you want for orders or 
a title.” 

Gotzkowsky could hardly suppress a smile of con- 
tempt. “ Orders for me! A title! What would I do 
with them? Sir, I am more powerful than all your 
counts, for the greatness of the nobility lies in the past, 
in mouldering ancestors; hut the greatness of the manu- 
facturer lies in the future, and the future belongs to 
industry. I founded the first large factories here in 
Berlin, and the manufacturers who come after me can 
call me their ancestor. No other nobility do I desire, 
count.” 

“ You would then he capable of refusing a count’s 
title?” asked Tottlehen, in astonishment. 

Gotzkowsky shrugged his shoulders. “If I had 


239 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

wished for nobility I could long ago have bought a count- 
ship of the holy German empire, for such things are for 
sale, and thirty thousand ducats is the highest price for 
a count’s title; and as for the orders, my own ribbon- 
factory turns out the ribbons for them.” 

General Tottleben looked at him for a long time in 
mild astonishment. “ You are a wonderful man, and I 
wish I were like you. If I had thought as you do, my 
life would have been a less stormy one, and less tossed by 
care and restlessness. I would have ” 

The general was interrupted by the hasty entrance 
of the adjutant. He was the bearer of dispatches 
brought by a courier who had just arrived. The courier, 
he said, had ridden so hard, that his horse had fallen 
dead on his arrival. 

Tottleben tore open the dispatches and read them 
rapidly. His countenance immediately lost its former 
expression of mildness and gentleness. His German 
heart was silenced by the will of the Russian general. 

He seemed to forget Gotzkowsky’s presence, and 
turning to his adjutant, with proud military bearing, he 
said : “ These dispatches contain important and surpris- 
ing information. They announce that the Prussian 
army is drawing on in forced marches, with the king at 
its head. We cannot give him battle here, and must, 
in consequence, arrange for a rapid retreat from Berlin. 
Call all the generals and staff-officers together. Let the 
alarm be sounded. In three hours the whole army 
must have left the city. And, further, summon the 
Town Council to the New Market, that we may take our 
leave, for we must not leave Berlin as fugitives, but as 
conquerors, who are proceeding on their march.” 

“ And the poor editors who are to be flogged? ” asked 
Gotzkowsky, when the adjutant had left. 


210 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


The general smiled, as he took Gotzkowsky amicably 
by the hand. “ We will hang them a little lower/' said 
he, significantly. “ Come, accompany ns to the market- 
place! ” 

Note.— Count yon Tottleben expiated his clemency toward 
Berlin very dearly. A few months later he was sent to Pe- 
tersburg under arrest, accused principally of having behaved too 
leniently and too much in the German interest for a Russian gen- 
eral. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE EXECUTION. 

The morning was cold and rainy, the wind howled 
down the empty streets, rattling the windows, and slam- 
ming the open house-doors. Surely the weather was 
but little suited for going out, and yet the Berlin citi- 
zens were to be seen flocking toward the New Market in 
crowds, regardless of wind and rain. 

The Berliners have, from time immemorial, been an 
inquisitive race, and where any thing is to be seen, there 
they rush. But this day there was to he a rare spec- 
tacle at the New Market. 

The editors of the two newspapers were to run the 
gantlet; and besides, General von Tottleben had sum- 
moned the Town Council and Jews thither, to receive his 
last orders and resolutions before he left Berlin. People 
were, therefore, very much excited, and curious to wit- 
ness this double show, and in their eagerness they for- 
gave the hostile general, who had prepared such a de- 
lightful entertainment for them, all the terrors of the 
last few days. Two gentlemen — two learned men — were 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


241 


to be flogged. That was, indeed, a precious and delight- 
ful sight for cold, hungry, ragged poverty, which always 
takes delight in seeing those whom fortune has favored, 
suffer and smart. 

How often had these shoemakers and tailors worried 
and fretted themselves over their pot of beer, that the 
newspaper writers should have had the hardihood and 
stupidity to write so violently against the Russians, with- 
out taking into account that the Russians would one day 
occupy Berlin, and take revenge on its innocent citizens! 
It served these newspaper writers quite right that they 
should be punished for their arrogance. And, besides, 
the good people would see the Russian general and his 
staff, and the grand Town Council and the chief magis- 
trate, who, in his golden chain and his robes of office, 
was to hand over to the hostile general a present of ten 
thousand ducats. The Berliners were, therefore, quite 
happy, and delighted to hear the hollow sound of the 
drum, and the Russian word of command. 

A regiment of Russian soldiers marched past the 
corner of the Bishop Street, toward the market-place. 
They ranged themselves in two long lines, leaving a lane 
between them, just wide enough for a man to pass 
through. Then came two provost-marshals, and walked 
slowly down the lane, delivering to each soldier one of 
the long slender rods they carried under their arms. 

The Russian soldiers were now armed, and awaited 
the victims they were to chastise. These were dragged 
out of the guard-house. First came tottering the gray- 
headed Mr. Krause, slowly and sadly; then came Mr. 
Kretschmer, formerly the brave, undaunted hero of the 
quill — now a poor, trembling, crushed piece of human- 
ity. They stood in the middle of the square, and, be- 
wildered with terror, their help-imploring looks swept 


242 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


over the gaping, silent multitude, who gazed at them 
with eager countenances and malicious joy, and would 
have been outrageously mad if they had been denied 
the enjoyment of seeing two of their brother-citizens 
scourged by the enemy’s soldiers. 

“ I cannot believe it!” whimpered Mr. Krause; “it 
is impossible that this is meant in earnest. They cannot 
intend to execute so cruel a sentence. What would the 
world, what would mankind say, if two writers were 
scourged for the articles they had written? Will the town 
of Berlin suffer it? Will no one take pity on our dis- 
tress? ” 

“ No one,” said Mr. Kretschmer, mournfully. 
“ Look at the crowd which is staring at us with pitiless 
curiosity. They would sooner have pity on a murderer 
than on a writer who is going to he flogged. The whole 
town has enjoyed and laughed over our articles, and now 
there is not one who would dare to beg for us.” 

At this moment another solemn procession came 
down the Bishop Street toward the square. This was the 
Town Council of Berlin. Foremost came the chief 
burgomaster Yon Kircheisen, who had recovered his 
speech and his mind, and was memorizing the well-set 
speech in which he was to offer to the general the thanks 
of the town and the ten thousand ducats, which a page 
bore alongside of him on a silken pillow. 

Behind the Council tottered trembling and broken- 
hearted the elders of the Jews, including those of the 
mint, in order to receive their final condemnation or re- 
lease from General Tottlehen. 

The people took no notice of the Council or of the 
Jews. They were busy staring with cruel delight at the 
journalists, who were being stripped by the provost- 
marshals of their outer clothing, and prepared for the 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


243 


bloody exhibition. With a species of barbarous pleas- 
ure they listened to the loud wailing of the trembling, 
weeping Krause, who was wringing his hands and im- 
ploring the Russian officer who had charge of the execu- 
tion, for pity, for mercy. 

The Russian officer was touched by the tears of sor- 
row of the editor; he did have pity on the gray hairs 
and bowed form of the old man, or perhaps he only acted 
on instructions received from General Tottleben. He 
motioned to the provosts to lead the other editor to the 
lane first, and to spare Mr. Krause until Mr. Kretschmer 
had beeen chastised. The provost seized hold of Mr. 
Kretschmer and dragged him to the terrible lane; they 
pushed him in between the rows of soldiers, who, with 
rude laughter, were flourishing the rods in their hands. 

Already the first, the second, the third blow has fallen 
on the back of the editor of the Vossian Gazette , when 
suddenly there sounds a powerful “Halt!” and Gen- 
eral Count von Tottleben appears, with Gotzkowsky at 
his side, and followed by his brilliant staff. 

With a wild scream Kretschmer tears himself loose 
from the hands of the provost-marshals, and rushes to- 
ward the general, crying out aloud; Mr. Krause awakens 
from his heavy, despairing brooding, and both editors 
sink down before the Russian general. 

With a mischievous smile, Tottleben looked at Mr. 
Kretschmer’s bleeding back, and asked, “Who are 
you? ” 

“ I am the Vossian Gazette” whined out Mr. 
Kretschmer, “whom you have accused of such cruel 
things. Ah! we have suffered great injustice, and we 
have been represented as worse than we really are. Oh, 
believe me, your excellency, I have been belied. I never 
hated Russia! ” 


244 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


“ You are both of you accused of libel/’ said Tottle- 
ben, sternly. 

“ If we are guilty of libel, it is without our knowl- 
edge/’ said Mr. Krause. “ Besides, we are very willing 
to recall every thing. I confess we were in error. We 
did not know you and your army, and we spoke igno- 
rantly, as the blind man does about colors. Now we are 
better able to judge. You are the noblest among noble 
men, and finer soldiers than the Russians, and a chaster 
woman than the Empress Elizabeth, are not to be found 
anywhere. Oh, yes, your excellency, Spener’s Journal is 
ready to eat its words. Only don’t let me be flogged, sir, 
and I will sing your praises everlastingly, and proclaim 
to all the world that the Prussian has no better friend 
than the Russian, and that God has ordained them to be 
brothers.” 

“ Only don’t let us be flogged,” implored Mr. 
Kretschmer, rubbing his sore back, “ I promise your ex- 
cellency that the Vossian Gazette shall be as tame as a 
new-born infant. It shall never indulge in bold, out- 
spoken language; never have any decided color. I 
swear for myself and my heirs, that we will draw its 
fangs. Have, therefore, mercy on us! ” 

The general turned away with a smile of contempt. 
“ Enough, gentlemen,” said he, roughly, and laying 
his hand on Gotzkowsky’s shoulder, he continued: “ I 
pardon you, not in consequence of your idle talk, but for 
the sake of this noble gentleman, who has begged for 
you. You are free, sirs! ” As the two editors were 
about to break out into expressions of gratefulness, 
Tottleben said to them, “ It is Gotzkowsky alone that 
you have to thank for your liberty.” 

They threw themselves into Gotzkowsky’s arms; with 
solemn oaths they vowed him eternal, inviolable grati- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. ^45 

tude; they called him their savior, their liberator from 
shame and disgrace. 

Gotzkowsky smiled at their glowing protestations of 
friendship, and withdrew himself gently from their 
ardent embraces. “ I did not do it for the sake of your 

thanks, and personally you owe me therefore no grati- 
tude.” & 

“ Gotzkowsky, have you entirely forgotten us? ” said 
a plaintive voice near him. It was Itzig, one of the 
rich Jews of the mint, to whom Gotzkowsky had prom- 
ised assistance. 

"Ask the general,” said the latter, smiling. 

He has spoken for you, and his intercession has 
freed you from the special tax,” said Count Tottleben. 

He has saved us, the great Gotzkowsky has had pity 
on our wretchedness,” cried the Jews, crowding around 
Gotzkowsky to press his hand, to embrace him, and with 
tears of grateful emotion to promise him their unalter- 
able attachment. 

“ You have saved my life,” said Itzig, “ for I had de- 
termined to die rather than pay any more money. For 
what is life to me without money? If the Jew has not 
money, he is nobody. In saving my money you saved 
my life. If ever you should be without money, Gotz- 
kowsky, come to me; I will lend you some at very low 
interest.” • 

I will lend it to you gratis,” said Ephraim, press- 
ing his hand affectionately in his own. 

Gotzkowsky answered sadly: “ If it ever came to pass 
that I were obliged to borrow, you would not remember 
this day, and I would not be the man to remind vou 
of it.” 

“Remind us of it,” protested Ephraim, “and you 
shall see that we keep our word. Come to us and say. 


246 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


*• Remember the tax that I freed you from/ and you shall 
see all that you desire shall he fulfilled.” 

“ God grant that I may never have need to remind 
you of it! ” said Gotzkowsky, pressing hack the excited 
Jews, and approaching General Tottlehen. 

“ You forget, sir, that you summoned the honorable 
Council of Berlin hither, and that these gentlemen are 
awaiting your orders.” 

The general seemed to awaken out of a deep reverie. 
“ Yes,” said he, as if to himself, “ the German dream is 
finished, and now I must he a Russian again.” He then 
turned quickly to Gotzkowsky and offered him his hand. 
“ Gotzkowsky,” said he, gently and persuasively, “ con- 
sider it once more — come with me and he my teacher.” 

“ What I can teach you is hut little. It is an easy 
lesson for him who has a heart, an impossible one for him 
who has none. Learn to love mankind. That is all 
my wisdom, and my farewell.” 

The general sighed. “ You will not go with me? 
Well, then, farewell! ” And as if to disperse the pain- 
ful and hitter feelings which assailed his German heart, 
he turned away and called, in Russian, to his adjutant: 
“ Let us break up, gentlemen. To horse, to horse! ” 

But in the midst of the confusion of the soldiers, and 
the tramping of horses, the chief burgomaster made a 
way for himself. He had to sustain the honor of the 
Council, and pronounce the beautifully worded oration 
which had cost him two sleepless nights to compose; he 
had to place in the hands of the general the offering of 
Berlin gratitude. 

At last he succeeded in reaching the general, and he 
began his speech. Full and powerful did his voice 
sound through the Hew Market, and the delighted peo- 
ple rejoiced over the oratorical talent of their chief mag- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 2 47 

istrate, and gazed with pride and admiration at his 
golden chain of office — that chain which had gone 
through so much, had endured so much, without grow- 
ing pale or dim. 

But General Tottleben did not accept the present 
which the city of Berlin offered him. He said: “ If the 
town believed that its fate was rendered more tolerable 
by my discipline than it otherwise would have been, let 
it thank the express orders of my empress. The honor 
of having been commander of Berlin for three days is 
sufficient reward for me.” 

Three hours later Berlin was freed from Russians 
and Austrians. Gotzkowsky, who had finally succeed- 
ed in freeing himself from the tumultuous expressions of 
gratitude of the Council, the editors, and the Jews, re- 
turned to his home, of which he himself says: “ My 
house resembled more a cow-house than a dwelling, hav- 
ing been filled for a while, night and day, with Rus- 
sians.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

BRIDE AND DAUGHTER. 

At the mere announcement of the approach of the 
king toward Berlin, the Russian army had left the city 
and withdrawn to Frankfort. But no inconsiderable 
number of officers had stayed behind; some of them to 
organize the withdrawal of the troops, while others, de- 
tained by personal affairs, had merely obtained short 
leave of absence. To the latter belonged Colonel Feodor 
von Brenda. General Bachmann had given him two 
days* leave, under the impression that he would avail 


248 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


himself of the time to enjoy, undisturbed, the society 
of his bride, the Countess Lodoiska von Sandomir. 

The general knew nothing of the difference between 
the colonel and his betrothed. He did not know that, 
according to her agreement with Bertram, Lodoiska 
had not informed Feodor of her arrival in Berlin. But, 
nevertheless, Feodor had heard of it. The countess’s 
own chambermaid, knowing the liberality of the young 
count, had gone to him, and for a golden bribe had be- 
trayed to him her presence, and communicated all that 
she knew of her plans and intentions. 

This news detained the colonel in Berlin. The un- 
expected arrival of his affianced pressed upon him the 
necessity of a decision, for he was aware of the impossi- 
bility of tearing asunder the firm and heart-felt bond 
which attached him to Elise, to unite himself to a wife 
to whom he was only engaged by a given promise, a 
pledged word. 

Feodor would probably have given up his whole for- 
tune to pay a debt of honor; would have unhesitatingly 
thrown his life into the scale ’if it had been necessary to 
redeem his word. But he was not ashamed to break the 
vow of fidelity which he had made to a woman, and to 
desert her to whom he had promised eternal love. Be- 
sides, his pride was wounded by the advent of the coun- 
tess, which appeared to him as a restraint on his liberty 
and an espionage on his actions. 

She had concealed her arrival from him, and he con- 
sequently concluded that she was acquainted with his 
faithlessness, and nursed some plan of removing the ob- 
stacles which lay between her and her lover. His pride 
was irritated by the thought that he should he compelled 
to maintain an engagement which he could no longer 
fulfil from love, hut only from a sense of duty. Such a 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


249 


restraint on his free will seemed to him an unparalleled 
hardship. He felt a burning hatred toward the woman 
who thus forcibly insisted on fastening herself upon him, 
and an equally ardent love toward the young girl of 
whom they wished to deprive him. 

Doubly charming and desirable did this young, inno- 
cent, lovely girl appear to him when he compared her 
with the mature, self-possessed, worldly woman of 
whom he could only hope that he might be her last love, 
while he knew that he was Elise’s first. 

“ If I must positively he chained, and my hands 
hound,” said he to himself, “ let it he at least with this 
fresh young girl, who can conceal the thorny crown of 
wedlock under freshly-blown rosebuds. My heart has 
nothing more to do with this old love; it has grown 
young again under the influence of new feelings, and I 
will not let this youthfulness he destroyed by the icy- 
cold smiles of duty. Elise has promised to he mine, and 
she must redeem her promise.” 

Still full of the passionate and defiant thoughts 
which the vicinity of his affianced bride had provoked, 
he had gone out to seek Elise. But to find her had be- 
come not only difficult, hut almost impossible. 

Bertram, who had not thought fit to reveal to Gotz- 
kowsky the forcible abduction of his daughter, had yet 
quietly arranged his precautions that a repetition of the 
attempt from any quarter, or at any time, should he im- 
possible. 

Under the pretence that the withdrawal of the 
troops rendered the city unsafe, and filled it with marau- 
ders and plundering stragglers, Bertram, secure of Gotz- 
kowsky’s approval beforehand, had armed a number of 
the factory workmen, and placed them as sentinels on the 
wall, in the court, and on the ground-floor. These had 


250 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


orders not to let any one enter who was not able to tell 
the object and purpose of his coming. By this precau- 
tion Bertram prevented any attempt of Feodor to climb 
the wall; and, furthermore he obtained the advantage 
that Elise, to whom the presence of the sentinels was 
unpleasant and objectionable, not only did not visit 
the dangerous, solitary parts of the garden, hut withdrew 
into her own room. In this manner Bertram had ren- 
dered any meeting between Feodor and Elise impossible, 
but he could not prevent his servant, Petrowitsch, from 
meeting his sweetheart, Elise’s chambermaid, on the 
street. 

By means of these a letter of Feodor reached Elise’s 
hand. In this Feodor reminded her solemnly and 
earnestly of her promise; he now called upon her to ful- 
fil her vow, and to follow him from the house of her 
father. He adjured her to unite herself to him at the 
altar as his wife, and to give him the right to carry her 
abroad with him as his own. 

Elise received this letter of her beloved, and her heart 
during its perusal was moved by unfamiliar emotions. 
She could not herself determine whether it was joy or 
dread which caused it to heat so convulsively, and almost 
deprived her of consciousness. She could have screamed 
aloud with joy, that at last she would he united to her 
lover, wholly, sacredly as his own; and yet she was filled 
with deep grief that the path to the altar would not he 
hallowed by her father’s blessing. Even love, which 
spoke so loudly and powerfully in her heart, could not 
silence the warning voice of conscience — that voice which 
again and again threatened her with sin and sorrow, dis- 
grace and shame. Yet Elise, in the warmth and pas- 
sion of her heart, sought to excuse herself, and in the 
pride of her wounded filial love said to herself: “ My 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


251 


father does not regard me; he will not weep for my loss, 
for I am superfluous here, and he will hardly perceive 
that I am gone. He has his millions and his friends, 
and the whole multitude of those to whom he does good! 
He is so rich— he has much on which his heart hangs! 
But I am quite poor; I have nothing hut the heart of my 
beloved. His love is my only possession. Would it not 
be wicked in me to cast this away, and lead here a 
lonesome, desolate life, without pity or sympathy? If 
my father loved me, would he have left me during these 
days so full of danger? After the terrible scene in 
which I, in the desperation of my heart, offended him, 
he would at least have given me some opportunity of 
asking his pardon, of begging him for forbearance and 
pity. But he seems purposely to have secluded himself, 
and avoided any meeting with me. He has shut me out 
from his heart, and withdrawn his love from me forever. 
And so I am forced to carry my heart full of boundless 
affection over to my lover. He will never repulse, neg- 
lect, or forget me; he will adore me, and I will be his 
most cherished possession.” 

As these thoughts passed through her mind, she 
pressed his note to her lips, each word seeming to greet 
her, and with Feodor’s imploring looks to entreat her to 
fulfil the vow she had made him. There was no longer 
any hesitation or wavering in her, for she had come to 
a determined resolution, and with glowing cheeks and 
panting breast she hastened to the writing-table, in order 
to clothe it in words, and answer Feodor’s note. 

“You remind me of my pledged word,” she wrote. 
“I am ready to redeem it. Come, then, and lead me 
from my father’s house to the altar, and I will be your 
wife; and wherever you go I will be with you. Hence- 
forth I will have no other home than your heart. But 


252 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


while I cheerfully elect this home, at the same time I 
am shutting myself out from my father’s heart forever. 
May God forgive the sins that love causes me to com- 
mit! ” 

But when this note had been sent, when she knew 
that her lover had received it, and that her decision was 
irrevocable, she was seized with trembling faintness, with 
the oppression of conscious guilt; and it seemed to her 
as if a new spring of love had suddenly hurst forth in 
her heart, and as if she had never loved her father so 
sincerely, so devotedly, so tenderly, as now that she was 
on the point of leaving him. 

But it was too late to draw back; for in the mean 
time she had received a second letter from Feodor, im- 
parting the details of a plan for their joint flight, and she 
had approved of this plan. 

Every thing was prepared, and all that she had to do 
was to remain in her room, and await the concerted 
signal with which Feodor was to summon her. 

As soon as she heard this signal she was to leave the 
house with her maid, who had determined to accompany 
her, come out into the street, where Feodor would be in 
waiting with his carriage, and drive in the first place to 
the church. There a priest, heavily bribed, would meet 
them, and, with the blessing of the Church, justify Feo- 
dor in carrying his young wife out into the world, and 
Elise in “ leaving father and home, and clinging only 
unto her husband.” 

Some hours were yet wanting to the appointed time. 
Elise, condemned to the idleness of waiting, experienced 
all the anxiety and pains which the expectation of the 
decisive moment usually carries with it. 

With painful desire she thought of her father, and, 
although she repeated to herself that he would not miss 


THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 


253 


her, that her absence would not be noticed, yet her ex- 
cited imagination kept painting to her melancholy 
fancy, pictures of his astonishment, his anxiety, his pain- 
ful search after her. 

She seemed, for the first time, to remember that she 
was about to leave him, without having been reconciled 
to him; that she was to part from him forever, without 
having begged his forgiveness, without even having felt 
his fatherly kiss on her brow. At least she would write 
to him, at least send him one loving word of farewell. 
This determination she now carried out, and poured out 
all her love, her suffering, her suppressed tenderness, the 
reproaches of her conscience, in burning and eloquent 
words, on the paper which she offered to' her father as 
the olive-branch of peace. 

When she had written this letter, she folded it, and 
hid it carefully in her bosom, in order to carry it un- 
noticed to her father’s room. He would not he there — 
for two days he had not been at home; she could, there- 
fore, venture to go there without fear of meeting him. 
She felt as if she would not he able to bear his gaze — 
the full, bright look of his eye. 

Carefully and softly, with the secret fear of meeting 
Bertram, whose sad, reproachful looks she dreaded even 
more, perhaps, than the eye of her father, she crept 
along the corridor, and finally reached the antechamber, 
breathing more freely, and glad to have met no one. 
Every thing here was quiet and silent; her father, there- 
fore, had not yet returned, and she was quite safe from 
any surprise by him. 

She now entered his private room, and crossing this, 
was in the act of opening the desk of his writing-table in 
order to deposit the letter therein, when she heard the 
door of the antechamber open. It was too late for flight, 
IT 


254 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


and she had only time to conceal the letter in her bosom, 
when the door of the room itself was opened. 

It was her father who now entered the apartment. 
Speechless and motionless they both stood, confounded 
at this unexpected meeting, each waiting for a word of 
greeting of reconciliation from the other. But however 
earnestly their hearts yearned toward each other, their 
lips remained silent, and their looks avoided one an- 
other. 

“ She shuns me. This is my reception after so many 
toilsome days of absence,” thought Gotzkowsky, and his 
heart was full of sadness and sorrow. 

“ He will not look at me, his eye avoids me, he has 
not yet forgiven me,” thought Elise, as she regarded her 
father’s pale, careworn countenance. “ No, he does not 
wish to see me. For the last time, therefore, I will show 
him obedience, and leave the room.” Sadly and softly, 
with her looks cast on the ground, she took her way to 
the door on the opposite side. 

Gotzkowsky followed her with his eyes. If she had 
only ventured to raise her looks once more to him, she 
would have perceived all his love, all the forgiving affec- 
tion of a father, in his face. But she did not, and Gotz- 
kowsky said to himself, in the bitterness of his heart, 
“ Why should I speak to her? — she would only misunder- 
stand me. I will lie down and sleep, to forget my cares 
and my sorrows. I will not speak to her, for I am ex- 
hausted, and tired to death. I must have rest and com- 
posure, to be able to come to an understanding with 
her.” 

And yet he regarded her with longing looks as she 
directed her sad steps toward the door. Now she stands 
on the threshold; now her trembling hand clasps the 
bright handle of the lock, but still she hesitates to open 


THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 255 

it; she still hopes for a word, if even an angry one, from 
her father. 

And now she hears it. Like an angel’s voice does it 
sound in her ear. He calls her name, he reaches his 
hand out to her, and says with infinite, touching gentle- 
ness, “ Give me your hand, Elise. Come here to me, my 
child — it is so long since I have seen you! ” 

She turned to him, and yet she dared not look upon 
him. Seizing his offered hand, she pressed it to her 
lips. “ And do you remember that you have been so 
long absent? You have not then forgotten me?” 

“Forgot you!” cried her father tenderly; and then 
immediately, as if ashamed of this outburst of fatherly 
love, he added calmly and almost sternly — “ I have much 
to talk with you, Elise. You have accused me.” 

Elise interrupted him with anxious haste: “I was 
beside myself,” said she, confused and bashfully. “ For 
give me, my father; passion made me unjust.” 

No, it only developed what lay hidden in your 
heart,” said Gotzkowsky; and the recollection of that 
unhappy hour roughened his voice, and filled his heart 
with sadness. “ For the first time, you were candid with 
me. I may have been guilty of it all, but still it hurts! ” 
For a moment he was silent, and sank his head on his 
breast, completely overpowered by painful reminiscences. 

Elise answered nothing, but the sight of his pale and 
visibly exhausted countenance moved her to tears. 

When Gotzkowsky raised his head again, his face had 
resumed its usual determination and energy. “ We will 
talk over these things another time,” said he seriously. 

“ Only this one thing, remember. I will not restrain you 
in any way, and I have never done so. You are mistress 
of every thing that belongs to me except my honor. 
This I myself must keep unsullied. As a German gentle- 


256 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


man I cannot bring the dishonor upon me of seeing my 
daughter unite herself to the enemy of my country — 
to a Russian. Choose some German man: whoever he 
may be, I will welcome him whom you love as my son, 
and renounce the wishes and plans I have so long enter- 
tained. But never will I give my consent to the union 
of my only child with a Russian.” 

While he spoke the expression of the countenance of 
both changed surprisingly. Both evinced determina- 
tion, defiance, and anger, and the charm which love had 
laid for a moment on their antagonistic souls was de- 
stroyed. Gotzkowsky was no longer the tender father, 
easily appeased by a word, but the patriot injured in his 
holiest right, his most delicate sense of honor. Elise 
was no longer the humble, penitent daughter, but a 
bride threatened with the loss of her lover. 

“ You would, then, never give your consent? ” asked 
she, passionately. “ But if this war were ended, if 
Russia were no longer the enemy of Germany; if — ?? 

“ Russia remains ever the enemy of Germany, even if 
she does not appear against her in the open field. It is 
the antagonism of despotic power against culture and 
civilization. Never can the free German be the friend of 
the barbarous Sclavonian. Let us hear nothing more of 
this — you know my mind; I cannot change it, even if 
you should, for that reason, doubt my love. True love 
does not consist only in granting, but still more in 
denying.” 

Elise stood with bowed head, and murmured some 
low, unintelligible words. Gotzkowsky felt that it 
would be better for both to break off this conversation 
before it had reached a point of bitterness and irritation. 
At the same time he felt that, after so much excitement, 
his body needed rest. He, therefore, approached his 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


257 

daughter and extended his hand toward her for a friend- 
ly farewell. Elise seized it, and pressed it with pas- 
sionate feeling to her lips. He then turned round and 
traversed the room on the way to his bedchamber. 

Elise looked after him with painful longing, which 
increased with each step he took. As he was in the act 
of leaving the room she rushed after him, and uttered in 
a tone of gentle pleading, the single word, “ Father! ” 

Gotzkowsky felt the innermost chord of his heart 
touched. He turned round and opened his arms to her. 
With a loud cry of joy she threw herself on his breast, 
and rested there for a moment in happy, self-forgetting 
delight. They looked at one another, and smilingly 
bade each other good-hy. Again Gotzkowsky turned 
his steps toward his bedroom. And now he was gone; 
she saw him no more. Father and daughter were sepa- 
rated. 

But Elise felt an unutterable grief in her heart, a 
boundless terror seized her. It seemed as if she could 
not leave her father; as if it would be a disgrace for her, 
so secretly, like a criminal, to sneak out of her father’s 
house, were it even to follow her lover to the altar. She 
felt as if she must call her father back, cling to his 
knees, and implore him to save her, to save her from 
her own desires. Already had she opened her lips, and 
stretched forth her arms, when she suddenly let them 
fall, with a shudder. 

She had heard the loud rolling of a carriage, and she 
knew what it meant. This carriage which stopped at 
her door — could it be the one in which Feodor had come 
to take her? "It is too late— I cannot go hack,” mut- 
tered she low, and with drooping head she slowly left 
her father’s room in order to repair to her own chamber. 


258 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


CHAPTER XY. 

THE RIVALS. 

Elise, immediately on reaching her room, hurried to 
the window and looked into the street, already darkened 
by the shades of evening. She was not mistaken — a 
carriage stood at the door; hut to her surprise, she did 
not perceive the signal agreed on, she did not hear the 
post-horn blow the Russian air, “ Lovely Minka, I must 
leave thee.” Nor was it the appointed hour; neither 
did her chambermaid, who waited in the lower story, 
come to seek her. She still stood at the window, and 
involuntarily she felt herself worried by this equipage. 
A sharp knocking at the door was heard. Before she 
had time to come to any determination, it was hastily 
opened, and Bertram entered with a lady, deeply veiled, 
on his arm. 

“ Bertram! ” cried Elise, drawing back shyly. 
“ What do you wish here? ” 

“ What do I wish here? ” answered Bertram, earnest- 
ly. “ I come to ask a favor of my sister. I have prom- 
ised this lady that she shall see and speak with you. Will 
my sister fulfil her brother’s promise? ” 

“.What does the lady wish with me?” asked Elise, 
casting a timid look toward the mysterious veiled 
figure. 

“ She will herself tell you. She requested me, with 
tears, to bring her to Elise Gotzkowsky, for, she assured 
me, the happiness of her life depended on it.” 

Elise felt an icy shudder run through her. She laid 
her hand on her heart, as if to protect it against the 
terrible danger which she felt threatened her, and with 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 2 59 

trembling lip she repeated, « What does the lady wish 

Bertram did not answer her, but letting go the arm of 
the unknown, he bowed low. “ Countess/ 5 said he, 
“this is Mademoiselle Elise Gotzkowsky. I have ful- 
filled my promise: allow me now to leave you, and may 
God impart convincing power to your words! ” 

He greeted the ladies respectfully, and left the room 
quickly. The two ladies were now alone together. A 
pause ensued. Both trembled, and neither ventured to 
break the silence. 

• “ You desired to speak to me,” said Elise, finally, in 
a low, languid voice. “ May I now beg of you—” 

The lady threw back her veil, and allowed Elise to 
see a handsome countenance, moistened with tears. “ It 
is I who have to beg,” said she, with a touching foreign 
accent, while seizing Eliseys hand, she pressed it warmly 
to her breast. “ Forgive me; since I have seen you, I 
have forgotten what I had to say. At sight of you, all 
my words, and even my anger have left me. You are 
very beautiful. Be as noble as you are beautiful. My 
fate lies in your hands. You can restore me to happi- 
ness.” 

God alone can do that,” said Elise, solemnly. 

“ At this moment you are the divinity who has the 
disposal of my fate. You alone can restore me to happi- 
ness, for you have deprived me of it — yes, you, so young, 
so handsome, and apparently so innocent. You are the 
murderess of my happiness.” Her eyes sparkled, and a 
bright blush suffused her hitherto pale cheeks. “ Yes,” 
cried she, with a triumphant laugh, “ now I am myself 
again. My hesitation has vanished, and anger is again 
supreme. I am once more the lioness, and ready to de- 
fend the happiness of my life.” 


260 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Elise drew herself up, and she, too, felt a change in 
her heart. With the instinct of love, she felt that this 
handsome woman who stood opposite to her was her 
rival, her enemy with whom she had to struggle for her 
most precious property. Passion filled her whole being, 
and she vowed to herself not to yield a single step to this 
proud beauty. With an expression of unspeakable dis- 
dain, she fixed her eyes upon the countess. Their flash- 
ing looks crossed each other like the bright blades of two 
combatants in a duel. 

“ I do not understand you,” said Elise, with angry 
coldness. “ You must speak more plainly, if you wish 
to be understood.” 

“You do not wish to understand me,” cried the 
countess. “ You wish to avoid me, but I will not let 
you. I have suffered so much that I will not suffer 
any longer. We stand here opposite each other as two 
women engaged in a combat for life and death.” 

Elise suppressed the cry of pain which rose in her 
breast, and compelled herself to assume a proud and im- 
passible composure. “ I still do not understand you, 
nor do I desire to contend with an unknown person. 
But if you will not leave my room, you will allow me to 
do so.” 

She turned to go, but the countess seized her hand, 
and held her back. “No! you cannot go!” cried she, 
passionately. “ You cannot go, for I know that you 
are going to him, to him whom I love, and I come to 
demand this man of you.” 

These half-threatening, half-commanding words, at 
last drove Elise from the assumed tranquillity she had 
maintained with so much difficulty. “I know not of 
whom you speak,” cried she, in a loud voice. 

But the countess was tired of dealing in these half- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


261 


concealed meanings, these mysterious allusions. “ You 
know of whom I speak/ 5 cried she, vehemently. “ You 
know that I have come to demand the restoration of my 
holiest possession, the heart of my beloved. Oh! give 
him back to me, give me back my betrothed, for he be- 
longs to me, and cannot be another's. Let my tears per- 
suade you. You are young, rich, handsome; you have 
every thing that makes life happy. I have nothing but 
him. Leave him to me." 

Elise felt furious. Like a tigress, she could have 
strangled this woman, who came to destroy her happi- 
ness. A wild, angry laugh rang from her lips: “ You 
say that you love him," exclaimed she. “ Well, then, 
go to him and ask him for his heart. Why do you de- 
mand it of me? Win it from him, if you can." 

“ I n order to be able to win it, you must first release 
him from the fetters with which you have bound him." 

An angry flush overspread Elise's pale face. “ You 
become insulting," she said. 

The countess paid no attention to these words, but 
continued still more vehemently: “Make him free. 
Loose the bands which fetter him, and then, I am sure, 
he will return to me and be mine again." 

Elise stared terrified at the face of the countess, ex- 
cited and streaming with tears. She had heard but one 
little word, but this word had pierced her heart like a 
dagger. 

“Return to you?" asked she, breathlessly. “Be 
yours again? He was then once yours? " 

“I yielded to him what is most sacred in life, and 
yet you ask if he was mine! " said the countess, smiling 
sadly. 

Elise uttered a loud, piercing shriek, and covered her 
face with her hands. Her emotion was so expressive and 


262 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


painful that it touched the heart even of her rival. Al- 
most lovingly she passed her arm around Elise’s waist, 
and drew her down gently to her on the sofa. “ Come,” 
said she, “ let us sit by each other like two sisters. Come, 
and listen to me, I will disclose a picture which will 
make your soul shudder! ” 

Elise yielded to her mechanically. She let herself 
involuntarily glide down on the sofa, and suffered the 
countess to take her hand. “ Feodor once belonged to 
her,” she murmured. “ His heart was once given to 
another.” 

"Will you listen to me?” asked the countess; and, 
seeing Elise still lost in silent reverie, she continued: “ I 
will relate to you the history of Feodor von Brenda, and 
his unhappy, forsaken bride.” Elise shuddered, and cast 
a wandering, despairing look around. 

“ Will you listen to me? ” repeated the countess. 

“ Speak — I am listening,” whispered Elis6, languid- 
ly. And then, the Countess Lodoiska von Sandomir, 
often interrupted by Elise’s plaintive sighs, her out- 
bursts of heartfelt sympathy, related to the young girl 
the sad and painful story of her love and her betrayal. 

She was a young girl, scarcely sixteen, the daughter 
of a prince, impoverished by his own fault and prodigal- 
ity, when she became the victim of her father’s avarice. 
Without compassion for her tears, her timid youth, he 
had sold her for a million. With the cruel selfishness of 
a spendthrift miser, he had sold his young, fresh, beauti- 
ful daughter for dead, shining metal, to a man of sixty 
years, fit to be her grandfather, and who persecuted the 
innocent girl with the ardent passion of a stripling. She 
had been dragged to the altar, and the priest had been 
deaf to the “ No! ” she had uttered, when falling uncon- 
scious at his feet. Thus she had become the wife of the 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


263 


rich Count Sandomir — a miserable woman who stood, 
amidst the splendor of life, without hope, without joy, as 
in a desert. 

But one day this desert had changed, and spring 
bloomed in her soul, for love had come to warm her 
chilled heart with the sunbeam of happiness. She did 
not reproach herself, nor did she feel any scruples of 
conscience, that it was not her husband whom she loved. 
What respect could she have for marriage, when for her 
it had been only a matter of sale and purchase? She had 
been traded off like a slave, and with happy exultation 
she said to herself, “ Love has come to make me free, 
and, as a free and happy woman, I will tear this con- 
tract by which I have been sold.” And she had torn it. 
She had had no compassion on the gray hairs and de- 
voted heart of her noble husband. She had been sacri- 
ficed, and now pitilessly did she sacrifice her husband 
to her lover. She saw but one duty before her — to 
reward the love of the man she adored with boundless 
devotion. Mo concealment, no disguise would she allow. 
Any attempt at equivocation she regarded as an act of 
treason to the great and holy feeling which possessed 
her whole soul. 

Usually all the world is acquainted with the treach- 
ery and infidelity of a woman, while it is yet a secret to 
her husband. But the countess took care that her hus- 
band should be the first to learn of his injured honor, her 
broken faith. She had hoped that he would turn from 
her in anger, and break the marriage-bond which united 
her to him. But her husband did not liberate her. He 
challenged the betrayer of his honor, whose treachery 
was the blacker, because the count himself had intro- 
duced him into his house, as the son of the friend of 
his youth. They fought. It was a deadly combat, and 


264 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


the old man of sixty, already bowed down by rage and 
grief, could not stand against the strength of his young 
and practised adversary. He was overcome. The dy- 
ing husband had been brought to Countess Lodoiska, 
his head supported by his murderer, her lover. Even 
in this terrible moment she felt no anger against him, 
and as the eyes of her husband grew dull in death, 
she could only remember that she was now free to be- 
come his wife. She had thrown herself at the feet of the 
empress to implore her consent to this marriage, on 
which depended the hope and happiness, the honor and 
atonement of her life. The empress had not refused her 
consent, had herself appointed the wedding day which 
should unite her favorite with the young countess. 

But a short time before the arrival of this day, so 
ardently longed for, looked forward to with so many 
prayers, such secret anxiety and gnawing self-reproaches, 
the war broke out, and Lodoiska did not dare to keep 
back her lover, as with glowing zeal he hastened to his 
colors. He had sworn to her never to forget her; to re- 
turn faithful to her, and she had believed him. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE PUNISHMENT. 

Elise had followed the countess in her narration 
with intense attention and warm sympathy. Her face 
had become pale as marble, her countenance sad, and her 
eyes filled with tears. A fearful anticipation dawned in 
her heart, but she turned away from it. She would 
not listen to this secret voice which whispered to her 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 265 

that this sad tale of the countess had reference to her 
own fate. 

“ Your lover did not deceive your trust? ” asked she. 
“ suc h a bloody seal upon your love he dare not 
break his faith.” 

“ He did break it,” answered the countess, painfully. 

I was nothing more to him than a guilty woman, and 
he went forth to seek an angel. He forgot his vows, his 
obligations, and cast me away, for I was a burden to 
him.” 

Both were silent in the bitterness of their sorrow. 
The countess fastened her large, bright eyes upon the 
young girl, who stared before her, pale, motionless, ab- 
sorbed in her own grief. 

This anxious silence was finally broken by the 
countess. “ I have not yet told you the name of my 
lover. Shall I name him to you?” 

Elise awoke as if from a heavy dream. “ Ho,” cried 
she, eagerly, “ no, do not name him. What have I to do 
with him? I do not know him. What do I care to 
hear the name of a man who has committed so great 
a crime ? ” 

“ You must hear it,” said the countess, solemnly. 
“ You must learn the name of the man who chained 
me to him by a bloody, guilt-stained past, and then de- 
serted me. It is Colonel Count Feodor von Brenda! ” 

Elise uttered a cry, and sank, half fainting, back on 
the cushions of the sofa. But this dejection did not 
last long. Her heart, which for a moment seemed to 
stop, resumed again its tumultuous beating; her blood 
coursed wildly through her veins, and her soul, unused 
to the despair of sorrow, resolved to make one last effort 
to free itself from the fetters with which her evil fate 
wished to encompass her. She drew herself up with 


266 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


glowing cheeks and flashing eyes. “ This is false/’ she 
cried; “ a miserable invention, concocted to separate me 
from Feodor. Oh! I see through it all. I understand 
now my father’s solemn asseverations, and why Bertram 
brought you to me. But you are all mistaken in me. 
Go, countess, and tell your friends, 4 Elise offers up 
every thing and gives every thing to him whom she loves, 
in whom she believes, even if the whole world testifies 
against him.’ ” And with a triumphant smile, throwing 
back her head, she stood up and was about to leave the 
room. 

The countess shrugged her shoulders as if in pity. 
“ You do not believe me, then?” said she; “but you 
will believe this witness?” and she drew a letter from 
her bosom and handed it to Elise. 

“ It is his handwriting,” cried the young girl, terri- 
fied, as she took the letter. 

“Ah! you know his handwriting, then? He has 
written to you, too?” sighed the countess. “Well, 
then, read it. It is a letter he wrote me from Berlin at 
the commencement of his captivity. Read it! ” 

“ Yes, I will read it,” murmured Elise. “ These 
written words pierce my eyes like daggers, but I will not 
mind the pain. I will read it.” 

She read the letter, which annihilated her whole 
happiness, slowly and with terrible composure. Drop 
by drop did she let the poison of these words of love, 
directed to- another, fall into her soul. When she had 
finished reading it, she repeated to herself the last cruel 
words, the warm protestations, with which Feodor as- 
sured his bride of his unalterable love and fidelity, with 
which he swore to her that he looked upon his love to 
her not only as a happiness, but as a sacred obligation ; 
that he owed her not only his heart but his honor. 


THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 


267 


Then long and carefully she considered the signature 
of his name, and folding up the paper, she handed it 
back, with a slight inclination to the countess. 

“ Oh, my God! I have loved him beyond hounds,” 
muttered she, low; and then, unable to restrain her 
tears, she put her hands to her face and wept aloud. 

“ Poor, unhappy girl!” exclaimed the countess, lay- 
ing her arm tenderly around her neck. 

Elise drew back violently and regarded her almost in 
anger. “ Do not commiserate me. I will not be pitied 
by you! I — ■” 

She suddenly stopped, and an electric shock passed 
through her whole frame. She heard the concerted 
signal; and the tones of the post-horn, which slowly and 
heavily sounded the notes of the sad Russian melody, 
grated on her ear like a terrible message of misfortune. 

The two women stood for a moment silent and mo- 
tionless. They both listened to the dirge of their love 
and their happiness, and this simple, hearty song sound- 
ed to them horrible and awful in the boundless desolation 
of their hearts. At last the song ceased, and a voice, 
too well known and loved, cried, “ Elise! Elise! ” 

The maiden started up, shuddering and terrified. 
“ His voice frightens me.” 

But still she seemed not to be able to withstand the 
call; for she approached the window, and looked down 
hesitatingly. 

The countess observed her jealously, and a fearful 
thought suddenly entered her mind. How, if this 
young girl loved him as much as she did? If she were 
ready to forgive him every thing, to blot out the whole 
past with the hand of love and commence a new exist- 
ence with him? If she felt no compassion for Feodor’s 
forsaken bride, and were willing to trample triumphant- 


268 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


ly on her broken heart at the call of her lover, and follow 
him to the altar? Her whole soul writhed in pain. 
“ Follow his call,” cried she, with a derisive smile. 
“ Leave your father, whom you have betrayed, for the 
sake of a traitor! You have vowed to love him. Go and 
keep your vow.” 

Outside Feodor’s voice called Elise’s name louder 
and more pressingly. A moment she listened, then 
rushed to the window, threw it open, and called out, “ I 
come, I come! ” 

Lodoiska flew to her; drew hack the young girl 
violently from the window, and throwing both arms 
firmly around her, said, almost breathlessly, “ Trai- 
tress! You shall not cross this threshold! I will call 
your father. I will call the whole household together! 
I will—” 

“ You will call no one,” interrupted Elise, and her 
proud, cold composure awed even the countess. “ You 
will call no one, for I stay, and you — you go in mv 
stead.” 

“ What say you? ” asked Lodoiska. 

Elise raised her arm and pointed solemnly to the 
window. “ I say,” cried she, “ that your bridegroom is 
waiting down there for you. Go, then.” 

With an exclamation of joy the countess pressed her 
in her arms. “You renounce him, then?” 

“ I have no part in him,” said Elise coldly. “ He be- 
longs to you; he is hound to you by your disgrace and 
his crime. Go to him,” cried she more violently, as she 
saw that the countess looked at her douhtingly. “ Has- 
ten, for he is waiting for you.” 

“ But he will recognize me; he will drive me from 
him.” 

Elise pointed to her clothes, which were placed ready 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


269 


for her departure. “ There lie my hat and cloak/’ said 
she haughtily. “ Take them; drop the veil. He knows 
this dress, and he will think it is me.” 

At this moment the door was torn open, and Ber- 
tram burst in. “ Make haste,” he cried, “ or all is lost. 
Count Feodor is becoming impatient, and may himself 
venture to come for Elise. Gotzkowsky, too, has been 
awakened by the unaccustomed sound of the post-horn.” 

“ Help the countess to prepare for the journey,” 
cried Elise, standing still, motionless, and as if para- 
lyzed. 

Bertram looked at her, astonished and inquiringly; 
but in a few rapid words the countess explained to him 
Elise’s intention and determination, to allow her to take 
the journey in her stead, and with her clothes. 

Bertram cast on Elise a look which mirrored forth 
the admiration he felt for this young girl, who had so 
heroically gained the victory over herself. His reliance 
on her maiden pride, her sense of right and honor, had 
not been deceived. 

The countess had now finished her toilet, and donned 
Elise’s hat and cloak. 

Bertram called on her to hasten, and she approached 
Elise to hid her farewell, and express her gratitude for 
the sacrifice she had made for her. But Elise waved her 
hack proudly and coldly, and seemed to shudder at her 
touch. 

“ Go to your husband, countess,” cried she, and her 
voice was hoarse and cold. 

Lodoiska’s eyes filled with tears. Once more she 
attempted to take Elise’s hand, but the latter firmly 
crossed her arms and looked at her almost threateningly. 
“ Go! ” said she, in a loud, commanding voice. 

Bertram took the arm of the countess and drew her 
18 


270 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


to the door. “Hasten!” said he; “there is no time 
to lose.” 

The door closed behind them. Elise was alone. 
She stood and listened to their departing steps; she 
heard the house door open; she heard the post-horn once 
more sound out merrily, and then cease. “ I am alone! ” 
she screamed, with a heart-rending cry. “ They are 
gone; I am alone! ” And stretching her arms despair- 
ingly to heaven, and almost beside herself, she cried out, 
“ 0 God! will no one have compassion on me? will no 
one pity me? ” 

“ Elise,” said her father, opening the room door. 

She sprang toward him with a loud exclamation, 
she rushed into his arms, embraced him, and, nestling in 
his bosom, she exclaimed faintly, “ Have pity on me, 
my father; do not drive me from you! You are my 
only refuge in this world.” 

Gotzkowsky pressed her firmly to his breast and 
looked gratefully to heaven. “ Oh! I well knew my 
daughter’s heart would return to her father.” 

He kissed ardently her beautiful, glossy hair, and her 
head that was resting on his breast. “ Do not weep, my 
child, do not weep,” whispered he, tenderly. 

“ Let me weep,” she answered, languidly; “ you do 
no know how much sorrow and grief pass off with these 
tears.” 

The sound of the post-horn was now heard from the 
street below and then the rapid rolling of a carriage. 

Elise clung still more closely to her father. “ Save 
me,” she cried. “ Press me firmly to your heart. I am 
quite forsaken in this world.” 

The door was thrown open and Bertram rushed in, 
out of breath, exclaiming: “She is gone! he did not 
recognize her, and took her for you. The countess — ” 


THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 271 

He stopped suddenly and looked at Gotzkowsky, of 
whose presence he had just become aware. 

Gotzkowsky inquired in astonishment, “Who is 
gone? What does all this mean ? ” 

Elise raised herself from his arms and gazed at him 
with flashing eyes. “ It means,” she answered, “ that 
the happiness of my life is broken, that all is deception 
and falsehood where I looked for love, and faith, and 
happiness! ” With a touching cry of suffering, she fell 
fainting in her father’s arms. 

“Do not rouse her, father,” said Bertram, bending 
oyer her; “ grant her this short respite, for she has a 
great sorrow to overcome. When she comes to herself 
again, she will love none but you, her father.” 

Gotzkowsky pressed his lips on her brow, and blessed 
her in his thoughts. “ She will find in me a father,” 
said he, with deep emotion, “who, if necessary, can 
weep with her. My eyes are unused to tears, but a father 
may be allowed to weep with his daughter when she is 
suffering.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE BANQUET OF GRATITUDE. 

Berlin had recovered from the terrors it had under- 
gone. It was eight days since the enemy had left, and 
every thing was quiet and calm. But on this day the 
quiet was to be interrupted by a public merry-making. 
Berlin, which had suffered so much, was to rejoice 
again. 

The festival which was to be celebrated, was intended 
for none else than John Gotzkowsky, the Merchant of 


272 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Berlin, the man whom all looked upon as their guardian 
angel and savior. He had cheerfully borne hardship 
and toil, danger and injustice, for ihe good of his fellow- 
men; he had always been found helping and ready to 
serye, "unselfish and considerate. The whole town was 
under obligation to him; he had served all classes of so- 
ciety, and they all wished to evince their gratitude to 
him. 

Gotzkowsky had been requested to remain at home 
on the morning of the festal day, but to hold himself in 
readiness to receive several deputations. They were to be 
succeeded by a grand dinner, given by the citizens of 
Berlin in his honor. They were to eat and drink, be 
merry, and enjoy themselves to his glorification; they 
were to drink his health in foaming glasses of cham- 
pagne, and Gotzkowsky was to look upon it all as a grand 
festival with which the good citizens of Berlin were 
glorifying him, while they themselves were enjoying the 
luscious viands and fragrant wines. 

In vain did Gotzkowsky refuse to accept the prof- 
fered festival. At first he tried to excuse himself on 
the plea of his daughter’s illness, alleging that he could 
not leave her bedside. But information had been ob- 
tained from her physician, who reported her out of 
danger, and that Gotzkowsky might leave her for several 
hours without risk. Gotzkowsky being able to find no 
other excuse, was obliged to accept. Elise was indeed 
sick. The grief and despair of her betrayed and de- 
ceived heart had prostrated her; and her wild, fever- 
dreams, her desponding complaints, the reproachful con- 
versations she carried on with her lover — unseen but 
nevertheless present in her delirium — had betrayed her 
secret to her father. Full of emotion, he thanked God 
for her happy escape, and felt no resentment against 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


273 

this poor, misguided child, who had taken refuge from 
the loneliness of her heart, in his love, as in a haven 
of shelter. He only reproached his own want of dis- 
cernment, as he said to himself: “ Elise had cause to be 
angry with me and to doubt my affection. I bore soli- 
tude and the constant separation from my daughter be- 
cause I thought I was working for her, but I forgot that 
at the same time she was solitary and alone, that she 
missed a father’s tenderness as I did my child’s love. 
I wished to make her rich, and I have only made her 
poor and wretched.” 

He kissed her burning, feverish forehead, he be- 
dewed it with tears, and forgave her, from the bottom of 
his heart, her misplaced love, her errors and transgres- 
sions. She was with him; she had returned to his heart. 
In her despair she had fled to the bosom of her father, 
and sought support and assistance from him. 

The dark clouds had all rolled over, and the heavens 
were again bright and clear. Berlin was freed from the 
enemy. Elise was convalescent, and the town of Berlin 
was preparing for her noblest citizen a banquet of grati- 
tude. 

The appointed hour had arrived for Gotzkowsky to 
receive the deputations, and he betook himself to the hall 
next the garden. A thundering hurrah received him. 
It proceeded from his workmen, who had come in pro- 
cession through the garden, and were waving their hats 
and caps. They were followed by a multitude of women 
in black. This day they had laid aside the tears and 
griefs for their husbands and sons fallen in battle, in or- 
der to thank Gotzkowsky with a smile for the magnani- 
mous kindness with which he had taken their part and 
secured their future. 

Following these women came the poor orphans, with 


274 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


mourning-crape on their arms. They rushed forward 
joyously toward Gotzkowsky, stretching out their little 
hands to him, and, at a word from the head operative, 
Balthazar, they stretched open their small mouths, and 
gave out such a shrill and crashing hurrah that the win- 
dows rattled, and many a stout workman stopped his 
ears and felt a ringing in his head. 

“ One more hurrah! ” cried the enthusiastic Baltha- 
zar; and “hurrah!” screamed and squeaked the chil- 
dren. 

“ And now for a third — ” 

But Gotzkowsky seized hold of Balthazar’s arm which 
he was about to move again, and with a look of comical 
terror, exclaimed: “ But, man, don’t you know that I 
have further use for my ears to-day? You deafen me 
with your screaming. That’s enough.” 

Balthazar struggled himself free from the strong 
grasp of his master, and placed himself in a theatrical 
position opposite to him. He was able this day to in- 
dulge in his passion for eloquence, for the workmen had 
chosen him for their orator, and he had a right to speak. 
As he spoke, it could he seen by his sparkling eyes, and 
by his fiery enthusiasm, that his words had not been 
learned by rote, but proceeded from his heart. 

“ Sir, allow me to speak and express my joy, for it is 
a joy to have a noble master. Look at these children, 
dear master. Three days ago they had fathers who 
could work and care for them. But the cannon-balls de- 
prived them of their fathers, and God sent them a 
father, and you are he. You adopted these children 
when they were forsaken by all else. You said: ‘ God 
forbid that the children of these brave men, who had 
fallen in defence of the liberty of Berlin, should be 
orphans! I will be their father.’ Yes, sir, that is what 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


275 


you said, and all the weeping mothers and all your work- 
men heard it and wrote it down in their hearts. Ask 
these widows for whom they pray to God. Ask the 
poor who were without bread and whom you fed. Ask 
the whole town who it is whom they bless and praise. 
They will all name the name of Gotzkowsky; with one 
voice they will all cry out: “ Long live our friend and 
father! Long live Gotzkowsky! ” 

Unanimously did all join in this cry, shouting out, 
“ Long live Gotzkowsky! ” 

Deeply moved, Gotzkowsky stretched out his hands 
to the workmen, and accepted, with cordial gratification, 
the flowers offered by the children. “ Thank you, thank 
you,” cri ed he, in a voice of deep emotion. “ You have 
richly recompensed me, for I perceive that you love me, 
and nothing can be more beautiful than love.” 

“ Diamonds! ” cried out Ephraim, as he made his 
way through the crowd with Itzig and a deputation of 
the Jews, toward the hero of the day— “ diamonds are 
more valuable than love, Gotzkowsky. Look at this 
brilliant, which sparkles and shines more brightly than 
ever did a look of love from any human eye.” 

He presented to Gotzkowsky a costly solitaire dia- 
mond, and continued: “ Be so kind and grant us the fa- 
vor of accepting this present. It is a diamond of the 
first water.” 

"It is a petrified tear of joy,” interrupted Itzig, 

“ shed by us on our delivery by you from taxation. You 
are our greatest benefactor, our best friend. You have 
proved yourself the savior of the Jews, for you freed us 
from the tax, and saved us what is more precious than 
honor, and rank, and happiness — our money; for, with- 
out money, the Jew is nobody. Accept, therefore, the 
ring, and wear it for our sakes.” 


276 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


“ Accept it, we pray yon,” cried Ephraim, and the 
Jews took up the cry. 

Gotzkowsky took the ring, and placed it on his finger, 
thanking the givers for the costly present, and assuring 
them he would wear it with pleasure in honor of them. 

Itzig’s brow was clouded with a slight frown, and 
stepping back to Ephraim and his friends, he muttered, 
“ He accepts it. I was in hopes he would refuse it, for 
it cost much money, and we could have made very good 
use of it.” 

The solemn advance of the honorable gentlemen of 
the Berlin Town Council interrupted Itzig’s private so- 
liloquy, and drew his attention toward the chief burgo- 
master, Herr von Kircheisen, who, in all the splendor 
and dignity of his golden chain and of his office, accom- 
panied by the senators and town officers, strode pomp- 
ously through the crowd, and presented his hand to 
Gotzkowsky, who was respectfully advancing to meet 
him. 

“ The Council of Berlin has come to thank you. For 
it is an unparalleled example for a man to undertake 
and go through what you have done for us, without any 
interest, without any ulterior object.” 

“ You make me out better than I am,” replied Gotz- 
kowsky, smiling at Herr von Kircheisen’s pompous 
words. “I had an ulterior object. I wished to gain 
the love of my fellow-citizens. If I have succeeded, I 
am more than rewarded, and I pray you say no more on 
the subject.” 

The chief burgomaster shook his head majestically. 
“ You have exercised toward us the virtue of philan- 
thropy. Allow us to exercise toward you in return the 
virtue of gratitude.” He took from the hands of the 
assistant burgomaster a dark-red etui , from which he 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


277 

drew a wreath of oak-leaves, worked in silver, which he 
presented to Gotzkowsky. “John Gotzkowsky,” said 
he, solemnly, “ the Council and citizens of Berlin re- 
quest you, through me, to accept this memorial of their 
love and gratitude. It is the civic crown of your mag- 
nanimity. Receive it from our hands, and accept also 
our vow that we will never forget what you have done 
for the town of Berlin.” » 

Tears of delight, of heart-felt joy stood in Gotzkow- 
sky’s eyes as he took the oaken crown from his hands, 
and glowing words of gratitude poured from his lips. 

Not far off, in a niche of a window of the hall, stood 
Messrs. Krause and Kretschmer, with sullen looks, wit- 
nessing the homage paid to Gotzkowsky, their souls 
filled with envy and rage. They, too, had come to 
thank him, hut with unwilling hearts, because they 
could not be well absent from the festivities which the 
whole town offered him. But they were vexed to see 
this man, whom they hated from the bottom of their 
hearts, because of their obligations to him, so univer- 
sally honored and beloved. It annoyed them to see the 
pleasant and affable smile with which the otherwise 
proud burgomaster conversed with him; to see with 
what cordial friendship the senators and councilmen 
surrounded him. 

“ I came hither,” said Mr. Krause, softly, “ to thank 
Gotzkowsky for saving us, hut I must confess it worries 
me to see him so glorified.” 

Mr. Kretschmer shrugged his shoulders contemptu- 
ously. “ Let them praise him,” said he; “ the Vossian 
Gazette will not notice it, and I will not write the small- 
est article on this occasion. As for the service he 
rendered us — well, certainly, it would have been un- 
pleasant to have been flogged, but then we would have 


278 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


been martyrs to our liberal opinions; the whole world 
would have admired and pitied us, and the king would 
not have refused us a pension.” 

“ Certainly,” whispered Mr. Krause, “ he would 
have granted us a pension, and the whipping would have 
made us famous. It has never been forgotten of the 
English poet, Payne, that King Charles the First had his 
ears cut off,* because he wrote against him. He is not 
celebrated for his writings, but for his chopped ears. 
We, too, might have become famous if this Gotzkowsky 
had not, in the most uncalled-for manner, interfered, 
and — but look!” cried he, interrupting himself, “the. 
interview with the Council is finished, and it is now our 
turn to thank him.” 

The two editors hastened toward him in order, in 
well-arranged speech, and with assurances of eternal 
gratitude, to offer their thanks. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A EOYAL LETTER. 

Mr. Krau.se had not yet finished the declamation of 
the poem which his inspiration had produced in honor 
of Gotzkowsky, when a loud noise was heard at the door 
of the hall, and Gotzkowsky’s body-servant rushed in. 
A messenger of the Council was without, he announced; 
a letter had just arrived from the king, and, as he was 
to deliver it to the burgomaster in person, the messenger 
had brought him here. He handed Herr von Kircheisen 
a letter, and the latter broke the seal with majestic com- 
posure. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


279 


A pause of anxious expectation ensued. Each one 
inquired of himself with trembling heart what could 
be the meaning of this royal letter. 

The countenance of the chief magistrate grew more 
and more cheerful, and suddenly he called aloud: “ This 
is indeed a message of gladness for our poor town. The 
king, our gracious lord, releases us from our obligation 
to pay the promised war-tax of a million and a half. 
He wishes to retaliate for the Wurzburg and Bamberg 
bonds captured from the Aulic Council. For which rea- 
son his majesty’s order is that we do not pay.” 

A single cry of joy sounded from the lips of all pres- 
ent. Gotzkowsky alone was silent, with downcast eyes, 
and his earnest, pensive expression contrasted strongly 
with the bright, joyous countenances which were illumi- 
nated by the order of the king to keep their money. 

Among the happiest and most radiant, however, were 
the rich mint farmers Ephraim and Itzig, and the chief 
burgomaster. 

“The royal decree relieves our town of a horrible 
burden,” said Herr von Kircheisen, with a happy smile. 

“ The whole mercantile community must be grateful 
to the king,” cried Ephraim. “ Berlin saves a million 
and a half, and the Russian is sold.” 

Suddenly Gotzkowsky drew himself up erect, and 
his eagle eye ran over the whole assembly with a bold, 
beaming glance. “ The Russian is not sold,” cried he, 
“ for Berlin will pay him the balance of a million and a 
half. Berlin has pledged her word, and she will re- 
deem it.” 

The countenances of those around grew dark again, 
and here and there were heard words of anger and wild 
resentment. 

“How!” cried Itzig, “do you require of the mer- 


280 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


chants to pay what they can keep for themselves? The 
king has said, ‘ You shall not pay! ’ ” 

“ And I say, we will pay,” cried Gotzkowsky. “ What 
is written is written, and what is promised must he per- 
formed, for this our honor requires. The king possesses 
not the power of annulling a promise or revoking an 
oath! He who does not fulfil his word of honor is not a 
man of honor, were he even a king.” 

“ But,” said Herr von Kircheisen, pathetically, 
“ there are nevertheless circumstances which render im- 
possible the fulfilment of an obligation.” 

Gotzkowsky answered ardently: "If such do occur, 
the man of honor dies when he cannot fulfil his word. 
But you — you do not wish to die. Oh no! You wish 
to break your word in order to live pleasantly. You 
wish to profit by your breach of promise. You wish to 
declare yourselves insolvent and cheat your creditors of 
their money, and thereby amass wealth.” 

A general storm of indignation interrupted Gotz- 
kowsky, and the very men who had come for the purpose 
of making a formal demonstration of their gratitude 
now approached him with angry gestures and threaten- 
ing words. 

“ A million and a half is no child’s play,” screamed 
Ephraim. “ Money is more precious than honor.” 

“ I say money is honor,” cried Itzig. “ As long as 
we keep our millions, we keep our honor.” 

“ You are very generous,” sneered Kretschmer. 
“ Like a gentleman, you pay your debts out of other 
people’s pockets,' and the citizens will have to pay mil- 
lions to enable you to keep your word.” 

Gotzkowsky cast one look of contemptuous pity on 
him, and replied: "You forget, sir, that I did not act 
in my own name, hut in that of the magistracy and 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


281 

merchants of Berlin. Mot I alone would be faithless to 
my word, hut the whole town of Berlin.” 

“ But I repeat,” said the chief burgomaster, “ that 
the king has released us from the obligation of keeping 
our word.” 

a Mo king can do that,” interrupted Gotzkowsky. 
“ A man of honor must keep his word, and no one, not 
even a king, can absolve him from it.” 

“ Let us not quarrel about matters of opinion,” said 
Kircheisen, shrugging his shoulders. “ My opinion is, 
that we do not pay this sum.” 

“ Mo, we will not pay it! ” cried all in tumultuous 
excitement, as they surrounded the burgomaster, discuss- 
ing in cheerful conversation the advantages of non-pay- 
ment. 

Gotzkowsky stood listening to them alone, unob- 
served, and forgotten. His heart was heavy with sad- 
ness, and painfully did he reflect: “ This is the unholy 
influence of money, hardening the heart and silencing 
the voice of honor. For a few millions of dollars do 
they sell their good name. One final attempt let me 
make. I will see what their cowardice will do.” 

Again did he enter their midst, and with convin- 
cing words and ardent eloquence portray the danger 
which would ensue from the non-payment of the bonds. 

The Russian was not very far from Berlin: if he had 
retired in forced marches he could return thither with 
equal rapidity in order, in the wantonness of his wrath, 
to take vengeance on the faithless town. 

“In an unlucky moment,” said he, “the Russians 
might gain a victory over our king. He would then 
return and rend us like a tiger. I would then no longer 
have the power of protecting you, for General Tottle- 
ben’s anger would be turned principally against me, 


282 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

who guaranteed the payment of the contribution. God 
himself does not protect him who breaks his word. He 
is an outlaw.” 

A deep silence followed Gotzkowsky’s speech. All 
the faces were again overcast, and in the contracted brow 
and anxious countenances could he read the fact that 
his words had painfully convinced them that it was neces- 
sary to pay. 

Even Herr von Kircheisen in his fear of the return of 
the Russians, forgot the enormous amount of the sums 
to be paid, and said, with a melancholy sigh: “ Gotz- 
kowsky is, I am afraid, right. It is very hal’d to pay 
the money, but it is very dangerous not to do it.” 

“ It might cost us our heads,” confirmed the first 
councilman. 

Ephraim stood with his head cast down, and mut- 
tered to himself, “ Money is very dear, but life is still 
dearer.” 

Itzig cried out in despair: “ Let us keep our money. 
Without money the Jew is nobody.” 

But the chief burgomaster, who had consulted the 
councilmen, now approached Gotzkowsky, and, with a 
smile, offered him his hand. “ We thank you,” said he, 
“for you have spoken wisely, and your advice shall be 
followed. We will pay, for we cannot help ourselves. 
But we must beg you to do us another important service. 
Go to the king and beg him not to be angry with us if 
we do not obey his order.” 

“ Yes, do so, do so, Gotzkowsky! ” cried all the others. 
“ Go to the king, he is friendly toward you — beg for us.” 

Gotzkowsky’s countenance beamed with generous 
satisfaction. “ Very well,” said he; “ I will go to the 
king and beg him to allow the to^n of Berlin to preserve 
its honor immaculate, and pay the promised sum.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


283 


“ Use all your eloquence, that the king may remain 
favorably inclined toward us, and not become angry 
with us for acting this once against his orders/' admon- 
ished the chief burgomaster. 

“ The king is a high-minded and noble man," said 
Gotzkowsky, enthusiastically. “ He looks upon a man's 
word as sacred, and will understand us and honor us for 
not wishing to break ours." 

An hour later the chief citizens and merchants of 
Berlin repaired to the spacious town-hall, where an ele- 
gant banquet had been prepared, and merriment pre- 
vailed, and glasses sounded; and Berlin, rescued, cele- 
brated the first day of joy and happiness. 

But J ohn Gotzkowsky, to whom this feast was given, 
whom Berlin called her deliverer and benefactor, was 
not present at this banquet. Deeply buried in furs he 
had just entered his carriage, and braving danger and 
toil, in the cold and darkness he drove away toward 
Meissen, where the king had established his head- 
quarters. 


BOOK III. 


CHAPTER I. 

FREDERICK THE GREAT AT MEISSEN". 

The great battle of Torgau had been fought, and the 
Prussian army, after so many combats and such a bloody 
victory, was contemplating with lively satisfaction the 
going into winter quarters, which, it hoped, this time 
would be in Saxony. The Prussian headquarters were, 
for the time being, in Meissen, and in the palace there, 
for a short resting-spell, dwelt the king, who for many 
years had only experienced the troubles and dangers 
of his position; the king who had often struggled with 
hunger and care, daily privation and mortal danger, 
and who one day, wearied out by sleeping night after 
night on the cold ground, commissioned his adjutant to 
provide a bundle of straw for the comfort of his royal 
person. The king had for a long time spared Saxony. 
He was sorry for this beautiful, afflicted land. But 
Saxony was finally to be treated as an enemy’s country, 
as she would not appreciate Frederick’s noble forbear- 
ance and clemency, and had allied herself to his enemies 
with fanatical zeal. And now her devastated fields, 
her paralyzed factories, her impoverished towns and de- 
serted villages, testified to her distress and the calamities 
of war. But at this time quiet and tranquillity reigned 
in the hostile camps. On both sides they were too tired 
to be able to carry on a fresh conflict, and the strength 
284 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


285 


of both parties being exhausted, they were obliged to 
allow each other time for rest. Besides, the winter had 
set in early with unusual severity, and, to all appear- 
ances, put an end to the campaign of 1760. 

The only contest now was for winter quarters; and it 
had been, therefore, after the victory of Torgau, the 
king’s first endeavor to cut off the retreat of the Aus- 
trians to Dresden, or at least to drive them out of this 
town. But, as the king wrote to Countess Camas, 
“ They laughed at us from the top of the hills — I with- 
drew immediately, and, like a little boy, have stuck 
myself down in pure disgust in one of the accursed 
Saxon villages. I assure you I lead a perfect dog’s 
life, such as no one else, except Don Quixote, has ever 
led.” 

In the mean while Frederick had left this “ accursed 
Saxon village ” (Neustadt) and had gone to Meissen, 
and his “ dog’s life ” had given place to ease and com- 
fort. He had, therefore, for some quiet weeks laid aside 
the sword, and the gentleman had become again the 
royal poet and savant , who divided his time between 
music and poetry, between serious studies and writ- 
ing to his friends, to whom he sent letters, in which his 
great and elevated manner of thinking, his soul 
above prejudice, were displayed in all their beauty and 
power. 

The king was alone in his study. He had just fin- 
ished a letter to the Marquis d’Argens, calling upon him 
to give some news of his gallery at Sans-Souci, and to 
inform him of its progress. The king laid down his pen, 
and leaned back in his chair for a moment. His usually 
sharp, bright eye had now a soft, gentle expression, and a 
light smile played around his thin, nobly-formed lips. 
He has forgotten for the time the care and bustle of 
19 


286 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


war, and fancied himself in his beloved paradise, his 
Sans-Souci, where it was allowed the hero to be a poet, 
and where he could for some genial hours put aside his 
dignity, and, instead of the enthroned ruler, be the 
cheerful sage, the smiling son of the Muses. 

The king, pleased by these memories of happy days, 
rose and seized his flute, which, by his express orders, 
always lay on his writing-table. He put it to his lips, 
and began an adagio , in the execution of which he was 
acknowledged to be one of the first virtuosos of his day, 
and the sounds, as they poured forth, rose plaintively, 
and floated around him in bewitching melody. No one 
could listen to this beautifully-executed, deeply-felt 
music of the royal performer, without being impressed 
in his inmost soul, and feeling his heart swell with 
powerful emotions. Outside, in the antechamber, were 
standing the stern generals, the heroic warriors, Zeithen, 
and the brave Schwerin, and General von Saldern, and 
their scarred, austere features assumed a soft, touching 
expression, as they leaned against the wall and listened 
in breathless silence to the performance of the king. 
But suddenly the playing ceased. 

To these brave warriors, unaccustomed to music, the 
execution had seemed superb; but the king was not 
satisfied with it. He, who had in his memory the royal 
artiste of Sans-Souci, exacted of the king, driven about 
by the hardships and necessities of war, that he should 
have lost nothing of the fulness of tone or the power 
and energy of execution. It worried him that the' notes 
no longer flowed so clearly; it vexed him to hear a 
sharp, whistling sound, that seemed to accompany the 
melody as with a painful sigh. He threw the flute aside, 
and stepped to a looking-glass, which he took up with 
evident unwillingness. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 287 

It was very seldom that the king held it worth his 
while to consult the mirror about his personal appear- 
ance, and when he did so, it was usually to inquire for 
some failing or evidence of frailty which restricted 
him m the freedom of his being. And while he thus 
looked at himself, his features assumed a sad expression, 
and his eyebrows became contracted. 

What was it, which thus put out of humor the brave 
hero, the victory-crowned king? 

He became aware that his second front tooth had 
broken off. The gap thus caused was the natural ex- 
planation of the want of clearness in his playing. He 
threw the mirror angrily aside, and with a frown on 
his brow paced rapidly up and down the room two or 
three times. 

But gradually another expression succeeded, and a 
sarcastic smile played around his mouth. Again he 
stepped to the writing-table, on which lay several unfin- 
ished letters. Looking for the one he had commenced 
to the Countess Camas, he said to himself: “ The good 
countess inquires after my personal appearance. Well, 
now that I am in the humor, I will draw my protrait 
for her.” 

Again he took up the hand-glass and regarded him- 
self long and attentively; hut this time not with vexation 
or ill-humor, but with the cheerful smile and dignified 
calm of a philosopher. He then applied himself to his 
writing: “ You ask how I look, dear mother. The dis- 
order of war has made me so old, that you would hardly 
recognize me. My hair is quite gray on the right side 
of my head; my teeth break off and fall out; my face is 
as full of wrinkles as the furbelow of a woman’s frock; 
my back as bent as that of a monk of La Trappe. Only 
my heart is unchanged; and, as long as I have breath, 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


288 

will preserve feelings of esteem and the most tender 
friendship toward you, good mamma.” * 

As the king read over this description of his appear- 
ance once more, he broke into a loud, merry laugh. He 
then pushed the letter aside, and took up another piece 
of paper, and a drawing-pencil. 

Silence prevailed now in the cabinet of the king. 
Outside was heard the monotonous tread of the sentinel, 
sometimes the sound of a trumpet, the neighing of a 
horse, or the order of some officer. The king paid no at- 
tention to all this. His ear was so accustomed to these 
noises, that it seemed like perfect silence to him. He 
was so buried in his work, that even the unwonted tu- 
mult which now arose was unperceived by him; nor did 
he notice that a carriage drove into the palace-yard, its 
post-horn sounding loud and merrily. The generals 
and courtiers, who were in the antechamber, noticed it 
all the more, because any thing was welcome to them 
which broke in upon the prevailing quiet; for so ac- 
customed were they to the varied business of war, that 
any thing which departed from it was insupportahly 
tedious. They drew to the window and looked with 
pleasure on the dusty, dirty travelling carriage, which, 
with its four panting post-horses, had drawn up at the 
entrance to the palace, and out of which descended a 
tall, manly figure, who went in at the palace door. 

The gentlemen in the antechamber amused them- 
selves guessing who the stranger who had just arrived 
could be; and they had all arrived at the unanimous 
conclusion that it must he the Marquis d’Argens, as the 
door opened, and the stranger entered. He asked for the 
adjutant on duty, and, as the latter was pointed out to 

* “ Lettres inedites, ou Correspondance de Frederic II.,” &c., 

p. 120. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


289 


him, he stepped toward him with an air of quiet 
dignity. 

“ 1 pray you announce me immediately to his maj- 
esty. Have the kindness to say to him, that I have not 
come hither on my private affairs, but as a delegate 
from the city of Berlin, with full powers from the Coun- 
cil and citizens, to request the honor of an audience 
with the king, and that I am obliged to return as speedily 
as possible to the capital.” 

“ Your name, sir? ” 

“ I am the merchant, J ohn Gotzkowsky.” 

The serious and proud features of the aristocratic 
adjutant immediately relaxed, and assumed a more polite 
and obliging expression. 

Ah! Gotzkowsky, the rich and magnanimous mer- 
chant of Berlin — the special protege of the king. I will 
announce you immediately to his majesty.” And the 
adjutant hurried through the halls and entered the 
boudoir of the king. 

In the mean while, the generals drew near Gotzkow- 
sky, who related to them all about the siege of Berlin, 
and the cruel and relentless conduct of the enemy; press- 
ing him with questions, whether on his journey thither 
he had encountered or come into the vicinity of any por- 
tion of the enemy. 

“ You will find the king very much out of humor,” 
said General von Saldern; “ he has not left his study to- 
day, and doubtless he is occupied with very serious plans.” 

“ Perhaps even with the plan of a battle,” said an- 
other of the gentlemen, “ for it is said that Lacy has 
advanced his army, and even that Landon has left Dres- 
den. A battle is therefore imminent, and the king is 
evidently drawing up his plan.” 

At this moment the door of the study was opened, 


290 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


and the adjutant motioned to Gotzkowsky to enter. As 
the latter was traversing the hall, the generals cast an 
eager glance through the open door, anxious to see the 
countenance of the king, and find out from its expression 
whether this intolerable armistice was to be interrupted 
by the violent clash of arms. 

In the mean time, Gotzkowsky entered the chamber 
of the king, and the door closed after him. He was 
now alone in the presence of the monarch, who was still 
sitting at his writing-table, making rapid strokes with 
his drawing-pencil on the paper before him. 

“ He is writing,” said Gotzkowsky to himself, w and is 
perhaps in the act of drawing out the plan of the battle 
which the generals out there are awaiting with such joy- 
ous impatience. Yes, he is writing, and perhaps each 
stroke of the pen may cost the lives of hundreds of hu- 
man beings.” And he did not venture by a single word 
or a loud breath to draw attention to his presence. On 
his entrance, the king had cast on him one of his sharp, 
penetrating glances, before whose commanding power 
many a general and many a brave man had quailed, and 
had then bent his head again over the paper. 

Absolute silence prevailed for a while. Suddenly 
the king interrupted it, and motioned to Gotzkowsky 
with his hand to draw near. “ Just look and see whether 
that pleases you,” said he, in a friendly tone. “ You are 
known as a connoisseur in art, and you have proved to 
me that you understand painting. Look at that, and 
tell me whether you like it.” 

What was it that the king had drawn on the paper? 
Was it really, as his brave generals wished, the plan of a 
battle soon to he fought, was it a philosophical treatise, 
or one of those witty and piquant epistles to which the 
king treated his friends? None of all these. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


291 


“A nosegay!” cried Gotzkowsky, as with uncon- 
cealed astonishment he looked now on the paper, now on 
the king. “ Your majesty is drawing a bouquet of 
flowers, and out there the gentlemen have just told me 
in confidence that you were busied with a plan of battle, 
and that the Austrians were approaching.” 

“ Nonsense! ” said the king, shrugging his shoulders, 
“ that rough set out there are always anxious for war, 
and to be cutting and slashing at each other. Don’t 
you listen to them, but rather tell me how you like this 
drawing. Don’t you think these roses mixed with lilies 
look well? But I see you wish to know what it is in- 
tended for. Well, it is for a set of porcelain which I wish 
to have painted for the Marquis d’Argens.” And, as he 
met Gotzkowsky’s looks, he continued with a friendly 
smile: “ Yes, you see, you are rich; you can make others 
presents. But the king of Prussia is a poor man; he 
has only his coat, his sword, and his porcelain. And 
this last even,” continued he, with a slight frown, “ I am 
obliged to get from Meissen.” 

“ That your majesty need not do in future. Please 
God, your majesty shall make your porcelain in your 
own dominions! ” 

“ Will you guarantee that? Will you undertake it? ” 
asked the king, kindly. 

“ I will.” 

“ And look ye, you are just the man to carry out what 
you wish. I am well satisfied with you. You have 
justified the confidence I placed in you when I was 
crown prince. You have redeemed the vow you made 
me then.” 

“ I swore to your majesty that I would be faithful to 
the fatherland with life and property,” cried Gotzkow- 
sky, with noble ardor. 


292 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


“ And yon have kept your word. It is not difficult 
in easy and prosperous times to find people to serve the 
state. Those are good citizens who serve her when she 
is in difficulty and danger.* You are a good citizen/' 
And handing Gotzkowsky an open letter which lay 
on the writing-table, he said: <( Read, it is a letter from 
the Marquis d’Argens. Read it aloud, I would like to 
hear it again.” 

And Gotzkowsky read with a trembling voice, and 
cheeks reddened with noble modesty, the following pas- 
sage from a letter of the marquis, which the king pointed 
out to him with his finger: “ Gotzkowsky is, indeed, an 
excellent man and a worthy citizen. I wish you had 
many such as he. The greatest gift which fortune can 
make a state is a citizen full of zeal for the welfare of 
his country and his prince. And in this respect I must 
say, to the credit of Berlin, that in these trying times 
I have met many of her citizens, Gotzkowsky the fore- 
most among them, whose virtues, the old historians of 
Rome, had they lived at the present day, would have im- 
mortalized! ” f 

“ Are you satisfied? ” asked the king, as Gotzkowsky, 
having finished, handed him the paper. “ Oh, I see you 
are a modest man, and blush like a young girl. But tell 
me, now, what brings you here? What does the city of 
Berlin wish? ” 

“ Her rights, your majesty,” said Gotzkowsky, seri- 
ously. 

“ And who is troubling her rights? ” 

“ Your majesty.” 

The king frowned, and cast an angry glance on the 
bold jester. 

* The king’s own words. 

f “ Correspondance entre Fred, et M. d’Argens,” vi., p. 228. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


293 


Gotzkowsky continued, calmly: “ Your majesty is 
depriving us of our good rights, in so far as you wish to 
prevent us from being honest people, and keeping our 
word sacred.” 

“ Oh, now I understand you,” said the king, laugh- 
ing. “ You are speaking of the Russian war-tax. Ber- 
lin shall not pay it.” 

“ Berlin will pay it, in order that your majesty may 
retain her in your gracious favor; in order that the 
great Frederick may not have to blush for his faithless 
and dishonest town, which would not then deserve to 
be the residence of a king. How! would your maj- 
esty trust the men who refused to redeem their open- 
ly-pledged word? who look upon sworn contracts as a 
mouse-trap, to be escaped from as soon as the opportu- 
nity offers, and when the dangerous cat is no longer sit- 
ting at the door? Berlin will pay — that our sons may 
not have to blush for their fathers; that posterity may 
not say that Berlin had stamped herself with the brand 
of dishonor. We have pledged our word, and we must 
keep it.” 

“ You must not, for I do not wish you to do so,” cried 
Frederick, with anger-flashing eyes. “ I will institute 
reprisals. The imperial court has refused the payment 
of the Bamberg and Wurzburg bonds.” 

“ And your majesty considers that proceeding highly 
dishonest and unjust,” interrupted Gotzkowsky; “ and 
while you wish to punish the empire for its breach of 
faith, you punish doubly the town of Berlin by depriv- 
ing her of the last thing that remained to her in her day 
of need and misfortune — her honorable name. You 
cannot be in earnest, sire? Punish, if you choose, the 
imperial judge, but do not make Berlin the dishonored 
Jack Ketch to carry out your sentence.” 


294 : 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


“ But are you so anxious to get rid of your money ? 
What is the amount that you still owe? ” 

“ A million and a half, sire.” 

The king stepped hack and looked at Gotzkowsky 
with astonishment. “ And the people of Berlin insist 
upon paying it? ” 

“ Yes, because their word is pledged.” 

The king shook his head thoughtfully. “ Hark ye,” 
said he, “you seem to me to he a dangerous agitator, 
who wishes to turn my peaceful citizens of Berlin into 
true children of Haman. Some weeks ago, after the 
unfortunate fight of Kunnersdorf, when I sent an ex- 
press courier to Berlin and ordered the Town Council 
to advise the rich and well-to-do to retire from the city 
with their portable property, my recommendation was 
not followed: you yourself excited the Council to dis- 
obedience. In your self-willed obstinacy you had the 
impudent assurance to make your way through a coun- 
try infested by the enemy; and if my colonel, Yon Pritt- 
witz, had not found you in those woods, and brought 
you to me in the village, your obstinate head would have 
adorned the lance of some Cossack or other. And what 
did you come for hut to assure me that the well-to-do 
citizens of Berlin would prefer staying at home, and did 
not wish to run away? Yes, truly you are a queer diplo- 
matist, and rush headlong into danger and trouble only 
to assure your king that his citizens will not obey him! ” 

The king had spoken with apparent displeasure, hut 
around his lips there played a slight smile, and his large 
blue eyes were directed toward Gotzkowsky with an ex- 
pression of indescribable kindness. 

“ In this case they do not wish to obey your majesty, 
because they wish to remain worthy of the name of 
your majesty’s citizens and subjects,” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


295 


The king paced up and down several times, with 
folded arms, and then stopped before Gotzkowsky, look- 
ing steadily in his eyes. “ Mow tell me, how did you 
manage to make the Berliners so obstinate and so lavish 
of their means? ” 

Gotzkowsky smiled. “ Please your majesty, the Ber- 
liners prize their honor above their life.” 

The king shook his head impatiently. “ You may 
tell that to some one else. Tell me, how did you bring 
my Berliners up to that? But the truth — mind, you 
tell me the truth.” 

“Well, then, your majesty shall know the truth,” 
said Gotzkowsky, after a pause. 

“ Yes, yes, the truth,” cried the king, nodding his 
head violently. “ I wish to know how you inspired the 
citizens of Berlin with such bold assurance.” 

“ The truth is, sire, that this was only the courage of 
cowardice, and that the prudent magistracy and mer- 
chants were perfectly delighted with your majesty’s 
orders not to pay these bonds, and that I gave my- 
self an immense amount of trouble in vain to remind 
them of their pledged word and their compromised 
honor.” 

“ Oh! I know it,” said the king. “ My good Ber- 
liners love money as well as any other of the good-for- 
nothing children of men. Proceed! ” 

“ Well, when I found them deaf to the voice of honor, 
I let them hear the words of cowardly prudence. I 
painted to them the horrors awaiting them if the enemy 
perchance should return as conquerors, and what a fear- 
ful revenge they would take on the perjured city. I re- 
minded them that the enemy would immediately attack 
all our property in Courland, Dantzic, and Livonia, and 
that at the Russian headquarters they had threatened 


296 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


me that they would publish us in all the open com- 
mercial marts as issuers of false bonds.” 

“ You were then in the Russian camp? ” 

“ A fortnight ago, sire. The Council of Berlin re- 
quested me to undertake this journey to complete the 
transactions left unfinished by the rapid retreat of Gen- 
eral von Tottleben.” 

“ And did you finish them ? ” 

“ I was obliged to give General Tottleben a written 
agreement that I would return in four weeks to the Rus- 
sian camp to carry out the transactions in the name of 
these merchants.” 

“ I have been told that the Russian general would 
not accept the bonds for the war-tax unless you indorsed 
them. Is that true, too?” 

“ It is true.” 

“ And what did you do? ” 

“ I indorsed them.” 

The king’s eye lighted up with friendship and kind- 
ness. “ D’Argens is right,” said he. “ Cornelius Ne- 
pos and Livy would have mentioned you in their writ- 
ings.” And he paced up and down the room in deep 
thought. 

A long pause ensued. Finally, Gotzkowsky was bold 
enough to break it. “ And the tax, your majesty, may 
we pay it? ” 

The king stopped in front of him. “ The tax shall 
be paid,” said he curtly; but, as Gotzkowsky was about 
to break out in loud expressions of gratitude, the king 
waved him off with his hand. “ That is,” said he, “ I 
myself will pay it, if it cannot be otherwise. Go back 
into the Russian camp, as you have promised. Endeavor 
to get some abatement of the amount, or some other 
profitable terms; but if you do not succeed, well, I will 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 297 

have to pay this million and a half for Berlin. But in 
return you must grant me a favor.” 

“ What, sire? Whatever it may he,” cried Gotzkow- 
sky, ardently, “ I am ready to perform any service for 
your majesty, even to the sacrifice of my life.” 

The king smiled. “ Oh, no! not quite so bad as 
that, although the service I ask of you is more difficult 
to most men than dying — I mean keeping silence” And 
as he laid his hand affectionately on Gotzkowsky’s shoul- 
der, he continued: “ Betray to no one what I have said 
to you, and only at the very last moment, if it is absolute- 
ly necessary, take the Council into your confidence.” 

“ How, sire?” said Gotzkowsky, painfully. “ You 
wish to deprive your Berlin citizens of the gratification 
of expressing to you their gratitude, their infinite affec- 
tion. Berlin may not even know how kind, how gra- 
cious your majesty has been to her! ” 

“ I don’t like the jingling of words, nor the throwing 
of wreaths. The very people who throw laurel-wreaths 
would he only too glad if the laurels were hard enough 
to break our heads. You pay the contribution, that is to 
say, you advance it, and I’ll return it to you.* That’s 
all, and now don’t say another word about it.” At the 
same time, as if fearful that Gotzkowsky might yet ven- 
ture to act contrary to his wishes, he continued more 
rapidly: “ Now tell me a little about Berlin, and above 
all things about our gallery at Sans-Souci. How does 
it fare? ” 

“ It is finished, sire, and the people flock to see it.” 

“ I only, like a fugitive or a Don Quixote, am driven 
about,” said the king to himself, “ and cannot even enter 

* “ Life of a Patriotic Merchant,” pp. 85-254. “ The king paid 
the contribution in fact so quietly, one hardly knew when, where, 
or how.” — Preuss's History of Frederick. 


298 


THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 


my own house, and they call that royal happiness! ” 
Turning to Gotzkowsky, he remarked aloud: “ Have you 
seen the gallery since the enemy took up his quarters 
in it? ” 

“ Yes, sire! Prince Esterhazy was this noble enemy. 
He protected Sans-Souci like something sacred. When 
he left he only took one single small picture with him, 
as a souvenir.” 

The king gave a friendly nod. “ I know it,” said he, 
“ and that is the only pleasure I have had for a long 
time. Once more I will see my Titians and Correggios, 
my Rubenses and Yandycks, which you bought for me. 
Now tell me about Charlottenburg. But mind, give me 
the truth. I have noticed that no one will speak out 
about it, nobody will tell the truth. They are afraid of 
my anger. But you are a brave man, you are not even 
afraid of the Cossacks. You will have the courage to 
let your king know the facts. How is it with Charlot- 
tenburg? The Saxons have quartered there — what did 
they do? ” 

And now Gotzkowsky, often interrupted by the vio- 
lent and angry exclamations of the king, told of the 
barbarous and cruel vandalism committed by the Saxons 
at Charlottenburg, their unbridled destructiveness and 
unsparing barbarity. 

“And the Polignac collection?” asked the king, 
breathlessly. 

“ Almost entirely destroyed.” 

The king started up from his easy-chair, his eyes 
flashing with rage. He was no longer the philosopher 
of Sans-Souci, no longer the poet; he was now the war- 
rior panting for battle and bloody vengeance. “ Tell 
me, tell me! I wish to know all,” said the king, laboring 
out each word, and taking long strides up and down. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


299 


But as Gotzkowsky gave him a more detailed ac- 
count, and related the sacrilegious barbarity which did 
not spare even the sacred art-treasures, the king’s brow 
became more darkened, and for a moment a burning 
flush of anger shot across his pale cheek. At one time 
he raised his arm threateningly, as if he would bring 
down the thunderbolts of heaven upon such wickedness 
and ruthlessness. 

As Gotzkowsky finished, the king said, curtly and 
vehemently, “ Good, very good! ” and traversing the 
room with hasty steps, he threw open the door which led 
into the antechamber, and called out, “ Saldern! ” 

Immediately General von Saldern appeared at the 
open door. The king commanded him to enter and shut 
the door; then, addressing him in a short, decisive tone: 
“ Go to-morrow, quietly, with a detachment of infantry 
and cavalry, to Huhertshurg, take possession of the 
castle, and have all the valuable furniture carefully in- 
ventoried and packed up. I will have none of it. The 
money obtained from its ransom will he turned over to 
the Lazaretto, and I will not forget you.” 

There was a pause. General von Saldern remained 
at the door motionless, in stiff military attitude. 

The king looked at him with astonishment. “ Well! 
did you hear? ” 

“ Yes, your majesty, I heard. But, may it please 
your majesty, this is against my honor and my oath.” 

The king compelled himself to be composed, for he 
loved General Saldern as a brave and noble officer. You 
would be right,” said he, “ if I did not use this desperate 
means to a good object. But let me tell you, the head 
of the great lord does not feel it if you tear out the hair 
of his subjects. You must hit, then, where it hurts him; 
and that I intend to do. The Elector of Saxony shall 


300 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


find out how it feels when one’s most cherished posses- 
sion is destroyed. We will teach him to he humane, 
and behave himself. Go, therefore, to Hubertsburg, 
and do as I told you.” 

General von Saldern turned pale, and his counte- 
nance was expressive of deep suffering, as he answered 
gravely and firmly: “ Your majesty may send me right 
off to attack the enemy and his batteries, and I will obey 
with my whole heart; but against my honor, my oath, 
and my duty, I cannot, dare not act.” 

The king stamped with his foot, and his eye flashed 
with threatening anger. 

“You must obey, as is your duty; you are hound 
to obey no other voice than that of your king who com- 
mands you,” said he with a voice of thunder. 

General Saldern answered, calmly: “ But, sire, I 
must obey the voice of my honor! Your majesty can 
easily transfer this commission to another.” 

The king turned from him with an involuntary 
frown, and, walking up and down hastily, he stopped 
near Saldern, and laid his hand gently on his shoulder. 
“ Look ye, Saldern, obey — go to Hubertsburg.” 

“ I cannot, sire! ” 

“You do not desire to enrich yourself?” said the 
king, as he turned away. “ Do you wish your discharge? 
I have no use for soldiers who do not consider obedience 
their first duty.” 

“ I herewith ask for my discharge, sire! ” 

“ You have it — go! ” * 

Without saying a word, General von Saldern made a 
military obeisance, and left the room. 

* This interview is historical and literal. General von Saldern 
left the array, but after the peace entered it again, with high honor 
and distinction. — Kustre, “ Traits of Saldern,” p. 39. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


301 


You go too! ” said the king to Gotzkowsky, who 

had been a silent, involuntary spectator of this scene 

“ g° and te ^ my adjutant to send Quintus Icilius to me.” 

In a few minutes Major Quintus Icilius entered. 
“ Go to Hubertsburg with a detachment of infantry and 
cavalry, and clear out the castle.” 

Major Quintus Icilius took good heed not to con- 
tradict the king. He had already, in the antechamber, 
heard of General von Saldern’s fate, and he was not in- 
disposed to execute the king’s commission. 

“ Only a hundred thousand dollars you hand over to 
the Lazaretto, the rest you can keep for yourself.” 

“ As you command, sire! Shall I proceed at once? ” 
The king cast a look of disgust on him. “ Are you 
in such a hurry to be rich?” said he. “ Go — I will 
appoint the time and the hour more particularly.” * 
When the king was alone again, he paced up and 
down the room in deep thought. At one time he stopped 
at the window, and his bright blue eyes were turned 
mournfully toward heaven. “ Poor fools that we are! ” 
said he, with a sigh. “ We have only a moment to live, 
and we make this moment as bitter as possible to each 
other. We take pleasure in destroying the master-pieces 
of industry and art, at the same time we are erecting an 
accursed monument to our own devastation and our 
cruelty.” f 

* Not till May, 1761, was the king’s order carried into execu- 
tion by Major Q. Icilius, in a most barbarous manner. The king 
was apparently satisfied ; but when Q. Icilius in 1764 applied for 
repayment of moneys spent in executing the royal command, the 
king indorsed on the application— “ My officers steal like crows. 
They get nothing.” 
f His own words. 


20 


302 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE WINTER-QUARTERS IN LEIPSIC. 

The king of Prussia had left Meissen, and taken up 
his winter-quarters in Leipsic. The choice of this town 
arose from a particular need of the king. He wished to 
pass the winter in a university town, and, instead of the 
rough companions of war, to surround himself with 
learned men and artists, poets and musicians. He had 
his band brought from Berlin, and invited the professors 
of the Leipsic University to his table. Thus Leipsic, 
the rich and luxurious commercial town, found itself, 
for a few months, converted into a royal residence. But 
not willingly did she undergo this transformation; and 
it was against her wish that she received the Prussian 
king, in lieu of the troops of the allies, within her walls. 
Frederick knew this, and therefore exercised no mercy 
on this city, so rich in money and professions, whose un- 
welcome guest he was. 

Had Leipsic welcomed the Prussian army in a ready 
and friendly manner, she would certainly have met with 
indulgence; hut her defiant and sullen behavior, her 
warm partisanship of Austria, whose ally Saxony was, 
naturally only tended to increase the animosity of the 
king, and aggravate his ill-humor. If Leipsic insisted 
upon regarding the Prussians as enemies, his duty was 
to consider her as an enemy, and treat her as such. 

Enormous contributions were laid upon the town, 
and in spite of the previous written promise of the king 
that her assessment should not, at the utmost, exceed five 
hundred thousand dollars, new demands were now con- 
stantly being made, and new contributions levied. In 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


303 


vain did the Council beg and plead for mercy and jus- 
tice; in vain did the merchants protest that their means 
were exhausted, and that they were not able to meet any 
further payments. The enormous demands determined 
on were firmly and with iron obstinacy insisted upon; 
and as the refractory town did not cease to oppose them, 
recourse was had to threats to intimidate her. Tarred 
rings were hung against the houses, and it was sworn to 
lay the town in ashes if Leipsic did not immediately pay 
the million of dollars demanded. But the unfortunate 
inhabitants had already reached that pitch of despera- 
tion at which people are prepared for any thing, and 
fear nothing further because there is nothing more to 
lose. They declared that they could pay no more, and 
offered to seal their word with their death. 

The tarred rings were indeed taken down from the 
houses, but the richest and most respectable inhabitants 
were seized and incarcerated. Even the authorities were 
not spared, and the officers of the Council were thrown 
into the prisons of the towns. In the most degrading 
manner, like a flock of sheep, they were shut up in spaces 
hardly able to contain them; damp straw was their bed, 
bread and water their only nourishment, and this was 
brought to them with words of cruel insult by their 
Prussian jailers. But to these latter the burden soon 
became too heavy; they were weary of their cruel service, 
and sought to lighten it. 

At first they had one hundred and twenty prisoners, 
but, after a fortnight of useless torment, the greater 
number had been set free, and only seventeen retained. 
To be sure, these consisted of the richest and most re- 
spectable citizens of Leipsic. And these unfortunate 
hostages, these spoilt sons of wealth and luxury, were 
now forced to bear the whole weight of misfortune, the 


304 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


entire anger of the victorious enemy. They, whose 
whole life had been one of indulgence and effeminacy, 
had now to undergo the greatest privations, the hardest 
sufferings. The cold earth was their bed, a piece of 
bread thrown to them their nourishment; and it 
was a feast to them when one of the gentlewomen of 
Leipsic succeeded in obtaining permission to visit a 
brother or husband, and was able to smuggle in under 
her silk dress a piece of meat or a little howl of soup for 
the martyrs. These cruelties would doubtless have been 
lessened or abolished if the king had had positive knowl- 
edge of them, or if he had believed that the city’s in- 
ability to pay was real, and not a mere pretext. But the 
king, vexed by the continually repeated complaints, out 
of humor at the obstinate conduct of Leipsic, and mind- 
ful of the vandal conduct of the Saxons at Charlotten- 
hurg, had issued strict orders not to trouble him with 
this business, and not to report to him about them until 
they could at the same time show that the sum demand- 
ed had been paid. And therewith sentence had been 
passed upon the unfortunate citizens of Leipsic. No one 
dared to mention to the king the torments and tortures 
to which the hostages of the pitiable town were sub- 
jected. No one had the courage to beg for mercy for 
those whose only crime was, that their riches were ex- 
hausted, their coffers empty, and that they did not pos- 
sess the means to pay the inordinate sums demanded of 
them. 

But while the population of Leipsic was undergoing 
this grief, this hard time of trial, an uninterrupted quiet 
and precious peace prevailed in the house inhabited by 
the King of Prussia. Music was performed, readings 
were held, and in the midst of these gentle diversions 
and this pleasant rest Frederick drew up the plans of 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 395 

fresh battles and new and great undertakings. Fasch 
and Quanz had been brought from Berlin to play music 
for him, the Marquis d’Argens to philosophize for him, 
his dogs to amuse him. The king, who knew enough of 
men to despise the wavering, erring, sinful creatures, 
was also a sufficient connoisseur of dogs to love the faith- 
ful, obedient, submissive animals with his whole heart, 
and devoted a great part of his time to them. He who 
was deaf to the wailing and lamentations of a whole city, 
had his ears open to the least whine of Biche, or his 
favorite Psyche, and never would have forgiven him who 
had dared to treat one of his dogs as so many of the noble 
and distinguished citizens of Leipsic were being treated 
in his name. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE FRIEND IN NEED. 

Ho one would have dared to speak a word for the 
refractory citizens and authorities of Leipsic to the king, 
nor act in direct contravention to his express orders. 
Even the Marquis d’Argens, his intimate friend and 
confidant, had refused to be the advocate of the 
unfortunate town. It seemed to be lost, without hope 
of redemption, and already it had been threatened with 
the extreme of severity. It had been announced to the 
chief men, the fathers and heads of families who were 
pining in the prisons, that they would be transported on 
foot to Magdeburg as recruits, with knapsacks on their 
backs. But at this moment the rescuer in need, of 
the afflicted city, made his appearance. 

A tall, proud, manly form crossed the antechamber 


306 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


of the king. Power and energy were visible in his coun- 
tenance, and his eyes sparkled wdth noble excitement. 
He was going to perform that duty from which courtiers 
and flatterers shrank with trembling; and what the brav- 
est generals did not dare, he was going to undertake. 
John Gotzkowsky was going to tell the king the truth. 
John Gotzkowsky was not afraid to rouse the anger of 
a king, when it came to helping the unfortunate or pro- 
tecting the oppressed. He had a more noble mission 
to perform than to sue for the smiles of a king, or the 
favor of the great. It was the higher mission of hu- 
manity which impelled him, and, as usual, his resolution 
was firm and unwavering. With hold decision he 
reached the door which led into the king’s chamber. 
He had the privilege of entering unannounced, for the 
king expected him. 

He had summoned Gotzkowsky from Berlin, to ob- 
tain information as to the progress of the Berlin indus- 
trial works, and the faithful patriot had, in obedience to 
the call of his king, come to Leipsic. He had seen the 
misery and suffering on this poor, down-trodden town, 
and, as he traversed the antechamber, he said to himself, 
with an imperceptible smile, “I brought the Russian 
general to clemency, and the king will not he harder 
than he was.” 

But before he threw off his cloak, he drew out of it 
a small package, which he examined carefully. Being 
satisfied with its appearance, he took it with him to the 
cabinet of the king. Frederick did not look at him at 
first. He was reclining on the floor, and around him, 
on silken cushions, lay his dogs, their bright eyes fixed 
on a dish which was placed in the midst of them. The 
king, with an ivory stick, was carefully dividing the 
portion for each dog, ordering the growling, discon- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


307 


tented ones to be quiet, and comforting the patiently 
waiting ones with a light jest concerning the next piece. 
Suddenly he raised his eyes, and his quick glance rested 
on Gotzkowsky’s smiling, placid face. “ Ah, you laugh/’ 
said he, “ and in your human conceit you find it quite 
beneath one’s dignity to occupy one’s self with dogs, 
when there are so many human beings. Let me tell 
you, you don’t understand any thing about it! You 
don’t know dogs at all, and perhaps you don’t know 
men. — Quiet, Biche! leave that piece for Apollo. I 
gave it to him, and therefore it belongs to him. One 
would suppose you had been learning from men, and in 
the true spirit of Christian and brotherly love, grudged 
each other a piece of bread. Quiet, Biche, and don’t 
be vexed that I compared you to human beings. I did 
not mean you were quite as bad as that.” 

And gently stroking and caressing the offended 
Biche, he rose and seated himself in his velvet-covered 
fauteuil. His bright eye turned toward Gotzkowsky, 
and rested on the package the latter had in his hand. 
“ What have you there? ” 

“ A plate and a cup,” said Gotzkowsky, seriously — 
“ the first two pieces from my porcelain factory in Ber- 
lin.” 

The king now rose from his seat and strode hastily 
toward Gotzkowsky. “ Give them here. I want to see 
what sort of potters’-ware you are going to impose upon 
me for porcelain.” With impatient hands he tore off 
the paper coverings, and so eagerly was he engaged 
with them, that he did not perceive that Biche and 
Apollo were already fighting for a scrap of paper which 
he had thrown directly on Biche’s nose, and which she 
consequently mistook for a delicate morsel, a prize worth 
a fight with Apollo. “ Forsooth, it is porcelain! ” cried 


308 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


the king, as he drew out the gold-rimmed plate and the 
beautifully painted cup from their wrappings, and 
looked at them attentively; and as his eye rested on the 
painting of the cup, his features assumed a soft and sad 
expression. te My house in Rheinsberg,” muttered he 
softly to himself— “ a greeting from my happy days.” 

“ In the castle Rheinsberg, I first enjoyed the favor 
of being presented to your majesty,” said Gotzkowsky. 
“ Castle Rheinsberg is, therefore, to me a happy recol- 
lection, and it was for that reason selected to adorn the 
proof pieces of my porcelain factory.” 

The king fastened a penetrating look upon him. 
“ You are playing me a trick — I don’t like tricks, you 
must know. Therefore tell me the truth. Where did 
you get this porcelain? It is not from Meissen. The 
mark is wanting, and it is whiter and stronger. Where 
did you get it? ” 

“ From Berlin, sire. I promised you, when you were 
in Meissen, that in future you should procure your porce- 
lain from your own dominions, and I dare not forfeit my 
word.” 

“ And so you imitated the Almighty, and created a 
porcelain factory with the breath of your mouth? ” 

“ Not with the breath of my mouth, hut the breath 
of my money.” 

“ Tell me about it, and all the particulars,” said the 
king, still holding the cup in his hand, and looking at it 
attentively. 

And Gotzkowsky related how, on his return from 
Meissen, he had accidentally made the acquaintance of a 
young man, who was passing through Berlin on his way 
to Gotha, the duke having offered to advance him the 
capital necessary to found a factory for the making of 
porcelain according to a process of his own invention. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 309 

The specimens exhibited convinced Gotzkowsky that this 
young man was fully acquainted with the secret of porce- 
lain-making, and he had therefore immediately deter- 
mined to forestall the Duke of Gotha. 

Money had in this instance, as usual, exercised its 
charm, and nothing more was necessary than to outbid 
the terms agreed on with the duke. A few thousand 
dollars more offered, and double purchase-money, had 
secured the secret of porcelain-making to Gotzkowsky, 
and bound the inventor down in Berlin for life.* 

The arrangements necessary for the first attempts 
were made in one of the out-buildings of his house, and 
the articles offered to the king were the first-fruits of his 
factory. The king listened to him with intense interest, 
and when Gotzkowsky had finished, he nodded to him 
with a smile. 

“ The Marquis d’Argens is right. I wish myself I 
had many such citizens as you are. It would be a fine 
thing to be a king if all one’s subjects were true men, 
and made it worth one’s while to be to them a kind 
father and lord. You have fulfilled a favorite wish of 
mine; and let me tell you, I do not think you will call 
the porcelain factory yours long. I think it will soon 
be a royal factory.” 

“ I founded it for your majesty.” 

“ Good > g° od - f you have given me a pleasure, I will 
give you one in return. Ask some favor for yourself. 
You are silent. Do you know of nothing to ask for? ” 

“ Oh, yes, indeed,” said Gotzkowsky, ardently, “ I 

* Porcelain-making was then a great secret in Germany, only 
known in Meissen ; the process being conducted with closed doors, 
and the foreman bound by oath. Gotzkowsky paid ten thousand 
dollars down, a life income of a thousand dollars, and house and 
firewood free.— “ Life of a Patriotic Merchant,” p. 87. 


310 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


have a great favor to ask— have pity on the poor inhab- 
itants of this town! ” 

The king frowned and pressed his lips angrily to- 
gether. “ Do you know that I have generally forbidden 
any one to trouble me with these Leipsic jeremiades? 

“ I know it, sire.” 

The king looked at him with astonishment. “ And 
yet you do it? ” 

“ Yes, sire, I do it because I relied on the kind, noble 
heart of my king, and because humanity bade me not to 
fear your majesty’s anger, when it became a question 
of mercy to the oppressed.” 

“ And for this reason you wanted to bribe me with 
your bits of porcelain. Oh, you are a reckoner, but this 
time you have reckoned without your host. No pity for 
these obstinate Leipsigers. They must pay the eleven 
hundred thousand dollars, or — 

« Or what?” asked Gotzkowsky, as he hesitated. 

The king looked angrily at him. “You are very 
bold,” said he, “ to interrupt me. The Leipsigers must 
pay, for I need the money for my soldiers, and they are 
rich; they are able to pay! ” 

“ They are not able to pay, sire! They are as little 
able to pay as Berlin is if Russia insists upon her de- 
mands, and her magnanimous king does not come to her 
assistance. But your majesty certainly does not wish 
that the world and history shall say that Russia acted 
with more forbearance and clemency toward Berlin than 
Prussia did toward Leipsic? To be sure, the Russians 
carried off the Jewish elders into captivity because they 
could not pay, but then they treated these poor victims 
of their avarice like human beings. They did not make 
them sleep on rotten straw; they did not let them starve, 
and die of misery and filth; they did not have them 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


311 

scourged and tortured until they wet with their tears 
the bit of bread thrown to them.” 

“ Who does that ? ” cried the king, with thundering 
voice and flashing eye. 

Gotzkowsky bowed low. “ Your majesty, the King 
of Prussia does that! ” 

Frederick uttered a cry of anger, and advanced with 
his arm raised on Gotzkowsky, who looked at him quiet- 
ly and firmly. “You lie! retract!” thundered the 
king. 

“I have, as long as I have lived, spoken the truth, 
sire — the truth, without fear or dread of man. Your 
majesty is the first man who has accused me of a lie. 
I have seen with my own eyes your majesty’s officials 
treating the poor captive Leipsic merchants like dogs. 
What do I say — like dogs? Oh, how would the poor 
down-trodden men envy those dogs the delicacies con- 
tained in that dish! It may he right to compel and 
humble the refractory, but it is not right to tread out 
the human soul, and even in the conquered you should 
honor God’s image.” 

The king looked at him with ludicrous surprise. 
“ Do you wish to give me a lesson? Well, I will forgive 
you this time, and, as you express it, honor God’s image 
in the owner of the Berlin porcelain factory. But hush 
about these hard-headed Leipsigers. They must pay. 
My soldiers cannot live on air, and my coffers are 
empty.” 

“ The Leipsigers are very willing to contribute, hut 
the demand must not exceed their powers.” 

“ How do you know that? ” 

“ The magistracy and merchant guild of Leipsic 
sent a deputation to me, and entreated my mediation:” 

“ You have then already the reputation of one who 


312 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


knows how to use his tongue well, and goes about tat- 
tling with it.” 

“ Sire,” said Gotzkowsky, smiling, “ we only follow 
the example of our hero-king. We all are anxious to 
fight, and those who have no swords must fight with the 
tongue. I have latterly been compelled to fight a great 
deal with it, and the Leipsic merchants may have heard 
something about that. They knew that I had some 
exercise with my tongue, and gained a little victory with 
it over the Russians in Berlin.” 

“ How much do you think the city of Leipsic can 
pay? ” asked the king after a pause. 

"If your majesty will remit them a few hundred 
thousand dollars, and allow the merchants time, they are 
willing to hind themselves in joint bonds.” 

“ Parbleu! are they willing to do that?” asked the 
king, derisively. “ The bonds of the Leipsic merchants 
would he no security to me.” And turning quickly on 
Gotzkowsky, he asked him, “ Are you willing to guaran- 
tee the payment? ” 

“ If your majesty orders it, the bonds shall he drawn 
out with my guaranty.” 

“ I look to you, then, for their payment.” 

“ At your orders, sire.” 

"Well, then, for your sake I will remit the Leip- 
sigers three hundred thousand dollars; hut for the rest 
of the million you are answerable.” 

“ I will he answerable for it.” 

“ I will let these gentlemen of Leipsic know that it 
is to your intercession and your guaranty that they are 
indebted for the mitigation of their contributions; and 
then you can, if it gives you pleasure, bargain with the 
rich town for some reward for your services rendered.” 

“ That would give me no pleasure, sire! ” cried Gotz- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


313 


kowsky, with noble indignation. “ Your majesty must 
not think so meanly of me as to suppose that I would 
make a profit out of the misfortunes of others, and that 
I have interceded for the poor Leipsigers in order to 
make a trade out of them! ” 

“ I think that you are a hard-headed, obstinate fel- 
low, who must be allowed to have his own way,” said the 
king, with an affable smile. “ But I must hear you 
witness that, in your own way, you have rendered me 
many a good service. For that reason, you will always 
find me well affected toward you, and in the Sans-Souci 
gallery you have created a beautiful memorial to your- 
self.” 

“ If your majesty would come there now, you would 
find the Correggio about which you wrote to the Marquis 
d’Argens.” 

The king’s eyes sparkled. “ The Correggio is mine! ” 
said he, walking up and down slowly, with his hands be- 
hind his hack. “ Ah,” added he, after a long pause, in 
a low tone, as if speaking to himself, “ when will this no- 
madic life cease, and the world be at peace, to allow this 
poor, badgered king a few hours of leisure and recreation, 
to enjoy the contemplation of his house and his pictures? 
The wandering J ew, if he ever existed, did not lead such 
a rambling life as I do. We get at last to he like the 
roving play-actors, who have neither hearth nor home, 
and thus we pass through the world, playing our bloody 
tragedies, with the wailings of our subjects for chorus.* 
When will it end? ” 

“ When your majesty has subdued all your enemies.” 

The king looked around with surprise — he had quite 
forgotten Gotzkowsky. “Ah! are you still there? and 
you prophesy me victory? Well, that will be as good 
* “ Correspondance de Frederic II. avec le Comte Algarottis.” 


314 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


to me as the Leipsic money. Go back home, and tell the 
Leipsigers to hurry with the money. And hark ye! 
when you get to Potsdam, greet the Correggio, and tell 
him. I yearn for him as a lover does for his mistress. 
Adieu! ” 


CHAPTER IY. 

GRATITUDE AND RECOMPENSE. 

Thus did Gotzkowsky save unfortunate Leipsic from 
the. heavy burden which weighed her down. The pris- 
oners were released, and the merchants gave a bond, for 
whose punctual and prompt payment Gotzkowsky guar- 
anteed with his signature. 

He did not do this from a selfish or vain ambition to 
have the praise of his name sounded, nor to increase the 
number of his addresses of gratitude, or written assevera- 
tions of affection. He did it from love of mankind; 
because he desired to fulfil the vow he had made to God 
and himself on the highway as a shivering, starving lad: 
that if he should ever become rich, he would he to every 
unfortunate and needy one the hand which had ap- 
peared out of the dust-cloud to his relief. He did it be- 
cause, as he tells us naively and simply in his Life, “ I 
knew from my own experience how difficult it was for a 
community to collect such a sum, and because the idea 
of profiting by such misfortune was abhorrent to me.” 

And now there was a brilliant banquet, and no end 
to the words of gratitude and tears of emotion. This 
banquet was given by the Leipsic merchants in honor of 
him who had so magnanimously taken their part, saved 
them three hundred thousand dollars, and guaranteed 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


315 


their bonds. And they devoured the delicate viands 
and emptied the beakers to his honor, and praised him 
in high-sounding speeches. 

When Gotzkowsky, wearied and bored by this festival, 
returned home, he found on his table three letters. The 
one which bore on its seal the arms of Prussia he opened 
first. It was a cabinet order from the king to his private 
secretary, Leinning, to pay to the merchant, John Gotz- 
kowsky, one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. “ Ah,” 
said he, smiling, “ payment on account; I bought a hun- 
dred thousand ducats’ worth of paintings for the king, 
and he does not wish to remain always in my debt.” 
With a slight shrug of the shoulders he opened the second 
letter. Suddenly he burst into a loud laugh, and his 
countenance assumed an expression of derisive mirth. 
“ The Elector of Saxony, in consideration of services 
rendered to the town of Leipsic, appoints me his com- 
mercial privy councillor!” cried he, waving the paper 
in the air; “ that is a good joke! The little elector, who 
has been my debtor for many long years, is gracious 
enough to throw me a bit of rank— a title! Much 
obliged! My name sounds well enough. It is not neces- 
sary to have a title to be a man of honor. Throw titles 
to numskulls, not to me — away with it! ” 

He then threw the paper aside with scorn, and took 
up the third letter. As he read it his noble countenance 
brightened up with proud pleasure, and his eyes sparkled. 
It was a document from the town of Leipsic, an address 
of thanks from the magistracy, the concluding words of 
which ran thus: 

“ In our extreme need we had recourse to Herr Gotz- 
kowsky, the respected merchant and banker of Berlin, 
imploring the same to intercede for this town and its 
merchants with the king of Prussia; affording them his 


316 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


credit and valuable assistance, to accord to said town 
some reasonable respite for payment, with security. To 
this earnest pleading Herr Gotzkowsky yielded, and, as 
a true philanthropist, without any ulterior views of profit 
to himself, did in the most praiseworthy manner assist 
us, and averted this misfortune from the town. These 
services we are compelled to acknowledge. We there- 
fore offer our services in return on all possible occasions, 
not doubting that the mercantile community of this 
place entertain the same sentiments, and feel themselves 
equally bound to all imaginable reciprocity. 

[signed] “ The Council of Leipsic. 

“ Leipsic, February 26, 1761.” 

“ This paper I will carry to my daughter, as a sou- 
venir,” said Gotzkowsky, folding it up carefully, and 
then added thoughtfully: “Who knows but what the 
time may come when it will be necessary to remind the 
merchants of Leipsic of this document? The opinions 
and destinies of men are very variable.” 

But Gotzkowsky himself was to have occasion to re- 
mind unthankful Leipsic of her professions of gratitude 
— not to call on her to perform reciprocal favors, but to 
protect himself against calumny and unfriendly suspi- 
cions. For a day came, when Leipsic forgot the affliction 
and grief she had suffered, and only remembered that 
John Gotzkowsky was her creditor, and that she owed 
him large sums of money. So, when at last, weary of 
long waiting, he pressed for payment, they accused him 
of self-interest, and said that he had unnecessarily mixed 
himself up in their affairs, and that it would have been 
better if. he had left them to their captivity; for al- 
though they might have had much to suffer, they would 
have had but little to pay. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


317 


Gotzkowsky answered these accusations in a manner 
characteristic of his noble, proud self— he was silent 
about them. But hard times and oppression came again 
upon the rich town of Leipsic. 

The Prussian king exacted fresh contributions— and 
now they recalled to mind the services of Gotzkowsky; 
again they, sent him humble letters, begging him to have 
pity on them; and now the cunning, calculating magis- 
tracy of Leipsic saw fit to take notice of these calumnies, 
which they had shortly before so industriously circulated 
through the public newspapers, and solemnly to declare 
in all the journals: “ We hereby certify, in compliance 
with truth, through these writings, that the worshipful 
Herr Gotzkowsky, as well in past years, as at the late 
Leipsic fair, out of unchanged and innate love and 
friendly kindness to us, this town, and its inhabitants, 
has given just cause for gratitude.” 

Gotzkowsky forgot the insults, and was again of 
assistance to them. A second time he persuaded the 
king to mitigate their contribution, and guaranteed the 
new bonds issued by them. A second time the magis- 
trates and merchants thanked him in the most touching 
words for his noble and disinterested assistance, and a 
second time were they destined to forget their vows of 
gratitude. 


CHAPTER V. 

FOUR YEARS’ LABOR. 

Four years of work, of industry, of productive ac- 
tivity, had passed away since the stormy year of 1760. 
They had produced but little alteration in the life of 
Gotzkowsky and his daughter. 

21 


318 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Gotzkowsky toiled and worked as he always had 
done; his factories were enlarged, his wealth increased, 
and his fame as a merchant sounded through the whole 
world. 

But all this would he have given, if he could have 
seen the light on the lips, the rosy glow on the cheek of 
his daughter, as in hygone days. But the beautiful and 
impassioned young girl had altered into the pale, seri- 
ous, silent young woman, who had learned to throw the 
veil of quiet resignation over the secret of her heart, and 
to suppress any manifestation of pain. 

Elise had grown old internally — old, despite her two- 
and-twenty years; she looked upon the life before her as 
a joyless, desert waste, which she had to traverse with 
bleeding feet and broken heart; and in the desolation 
of her soul, she sometimes shuddered at the death-like 
apathy and quiet of her feelings, broken by no sound, 
no note, not even the wail of woe. 

She was without a wish, without a hope. Grief had 
spent itself on her. She wept no more — she wrestled no 
longer with her love, for she had conquered it. But she 
could not rise again to any new joys of life — she could 
only he resigned. She had accepted life, and she bore 
it as does the bird shut up in a gilded cage, robbed of 
freedom and fresh air, and given in return a brilliant 
prison. She, too, was an imprisoned bird; and her 
wounded heart lay in the cage of her breast, sorrowful 
and infinitely wretched. She prayed to God for peace, 
for resignation, no longer for happiness, for she did not 
believe happiness any more possible. She had sunk into 
that apathy which desires nothing more than a quiet, 
dreamy fading away. Her grief was deficient in the 
animating consolation of the thought that “ it came 
from God.” Real and sacred suffering, which does come 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


319 

from God, and is imposed upon us by fate, always carries 
with it the divine power of healing; and at the same 
time that it casts us down and humbles us, raises us 
again, steels our courage, and makes us strong and proud 
to suffer and to bear. Quite different is that misfortune 
which comes from man— which is laid upon us by the 
envy, hatred, and malice of mankind. This carries with 
it no consolation, no comfort— a misfortune full of bit- 
terness and murmuring— a misfortune which abases us 
without elevating us again, which casts us down in the 
mire, from the soil of which not all the hot streams of 
our tears can purify and cleanse us. Had she lost her 
lover, had he been snatched away from her by death, 
Elise, while she gave him back to God, would have re- 
garded this heavy and sacred affliction as her great and 
holy happiness; she would have accepted it as a precious 
promise which elevated her, and inspired her with a bliss- 
ful hope. 

But she had lost him by his own treachery, by world- 
ly sin, and she had given him up, not to God, but to his 
own unrighteousness and disloyalty. She had there- 
fore lost him irretrievably, and for always— not for a 
short space of time, but for all eternity; and she dared 
not even weep for him, for her misfortune was at the 
same time her disgrace, and even her tears filled her with 
humiliation and shame. For that reason she never 
spoke, either with her father or with Bertram, about the 
sad and painful past, about the errors and disappoint- 
ments of her youth; and neither of them in their pure 
and indulgent love ever trespassed on the silence which 
Elise had spread over her sorrow. Toward her father 
she was a careful, attentive, and submissive daughter; 
toward Bertram a confiding and loving sister; but to 
both she felt as if she were only giving what was saved 


320 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

from the shipwreck of her affections. They both knew 
that Elise could no longer offer them an entire, un- 
broken heart. But they were both content to rest on 
the embers of this ruined edifice, to gather the leaves of 
this rose, broken by the tempest, and to remember how 
beautiful it was in its bloom. 

Gotzkowsky only asked of his daughter that she 
should live, that she should become again healthy and 
strong for new happiness. 

Bertram, in the strength and fidelity of his affections, 
had no other wish than that he should some day see her 
cheerful and content again, and once more brightened 
by the beams which only love and happiness can spread 
over a human countenance; and in his great and self- 
sacrificing love he said to himself: “ If I only knew that 
her happiness lay in the remotest corner of the world, 
thither would I go to fetch it for her, even if she there- 
by were lost to me forever! ” 

And thus did four years pass away — externally, 
bright and clear, surrounded by all the brilliancy of 
wealth and happiness — inwardly, silent and desolate, full 
of privation and deep-rooted sorrow. 


CHAPTER VI. 

DAYS OF MISFORTUNE. 

Gotzkowsky was alone in his room. It was an 
elegant, brilliantly ornamented apartment, which the 
greatest prince might have envied. The most select 
pictures by celebrated old masters hung around on the 
walls; the most costly Chinese vases stood on gilt tables; 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


321 


and between the windows, instead of mirrors, were placed 
the most exquisite Greek marble statues. The furniture 
of the room was simple. Gotzkowsky had but one passion, 
on which he spent yearly many thousands, and that was* 
for art-treasures, paintings, and antiques. His house 
resembled a temple of art; it contained the rarest and 
choicest treasures; and when Gotzkowsky passed through 
the rooms on the arm of his daughter, and contemplated 
the pictures, or dwelt with her on one of the sublime 
statues of the gods, his eye beamed with blissful satis- 
faction, and his whole being breathed cheerfulness and 
calm. But at this moment his countenance was care- 
worn and anxious, and however pleasantly and cheerfully 
the pictures looked down upon him from the walls, his 
eye remained sad and clouded, and deep grief was ex- 
pressed in his features. 

He sat at his writing-table, and turned over the 
papers which lay piled up high before him. At times 
he looked deeply shocked and anxious, and his whole 
frame trembled, as with hasty hand he transcribed some 
notes from another sheet. Suddenly he let the pen 
drop, and sank his head on his breast. 

“ If is in vain,” he muttered in a low voice — “ yes, it 
is in vain. If I were to exert all my power, if I were to 
collect all my means together, they would not be suffi- 
cient to pay these enormous sums.” 

Again he turned over the papers, and pointing with 
his finger to one of them, he continued: “ Yes, there it 
stands. I am a rich man on paper. Leipsic owes me 
more than a million. If she pays, and De Neufville 
comes, I am saved. But if not — if Leipsic once more, 
as she has already done three times, protests her inabil- 
ity to pay — if De Neufville does not come, what shall 
I do? How can I save myself from ruin and shame?” 


322 


THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 


Deeper and deeper did he bury himself silently in the 
papers. A terrible anxiety oppressed him, and sent his 
blood rushing to his heart and head. He arose and 
paced up and down the room, muttering occasionally a 
few words, betraying the anguish and terror which pos- 
sessed him. Then standing still, he pressed his hands 
to his temples, as if to crowd back the pain which 
throbbed and ached there. 

« Oh, it is terrible! ” he uttered in a subdued voice; 

“ with my eyes open I stand on the brink of a precipice. 

I see it, and cannot draw hack. If no helping hand is 
stretched out to save me, I must fall in, and my good 
name must perish with me. And to he obliged to con- 
fess that not my own want of judgment, no rashness 
nor presumption on my part, hut only love of mankind, 
love of my brethren, has brought me to this! To each 
one who held out his hand to me, I gave the hand of a 
friend, every one in need I helped. And for that reason, 
for the good I have done, I stand on the verge of an 
abyss.” 

He cast his looks toward heaven, and tears shone in 
his eyes. “Was it, then, wrong? 0 my God! was it, 
then, culpable to trust men, and must I atone with my 
honor for what I did from love? ” 

But this compunction, this depression, did not last 
long. Gotzkowsky soon arose above his grief, and hear- 
ing his head aloft as if to shake off the cares which low- 
ered around it, he said in a determined tone: I must not 
lose my courage. This day requires all my presence of 
mind, and the decisive moment shall not find me cowed 
and pusillanimous.” 

He was about to set himself to work again, when a 
repeated knocking at the door interrupted him. At his 
reluctant bidding it opened, and Bertram appeared on 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


323 


the threshold. “ Pardon me,” he said, almost timidly; 
“ 1 knew that you wished to be alone, but I could not 
bear it any longer. I must see you. Only think, Fa- 
ther Gotzkowsky, it is a fortnight since I arrived, and I 
have scarcely seen you in this time; therefore do not be 
angry with me if I disobey your orders, and come to you, 
although I know that you are busy.” 

Gotzkowsky nodded to him with a sad smile. “ I 
thank you for it,” said he. “ I had ordered Peter not to 
admit any one. You are an exception, as you know, my 
son.” 

A pause ensued, during which Bertram examined 
Gotzkowsky with a searching look. The latter had seated 
himself again at his writing-table, and with troubled 
looks was examining his papers. 

Bertram had been absent for nearly a year. The 
silent grief which day and night gnawed at his heart had 
undermined his health and exhausted his physical 
strength. The physicians had deemed a prolonged resi- 
dence in Nice necessary. If Bertram yielded to their 
judgment and repaired to Nice, it was because he 
thought, “ Perhaps Elise will think of me when I am 
no longer near her. Perchance absence may warm her 
heart, and she may forget the brother, some day to wel- 
come the husband.” 

Returning after a year’s absence, strengthened and 
restored to health, he found Elise as he had left her. 
She received him with the same quiet, calm look with 
which she had bid him farewell. She placed her hand 
as coolly and as friendly in his, and althought she in- 
quired cordially and sympathizingly after his welfare, 
Bertram still felt that her heart and her innmost soul 
had not part in her questioning. 

Elise had not altered — but how little was Gotzkow- 


324 : 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


sky like himself! Where was the ardent man, powerful 
of will, whom Bertram had embraced at his departure? 
where was his clear, ringing voice, his proud hearing, 
his energy, his burning eloquence — what had become of 
all these? What diabolical, dismal influence had suc- 
ceeded in breaking this iron will, in subduing this vital 
power? 

Bertram felt that a deep grief was corroding Gotz- 
kowsky’s life — a grief whose destructive influence was 
greater because he avoided the expression of it, and 
sought no relief nor consolation by communicating it 
to others. “ He shall, at least, speak to me,” said Ber- 
tram. “ I will compel him to make me the confidant 
of his grief, and to lighten his heart by imparting a 
portion of his burden to mine.” With this determina- 
tion he had entered Gotzkowsky’s room; he now stood 
opposite to him, and with gentle sympathy looked into 
his pale, sorrow-worn countenance. 

But Gotzkowsky avoided his eye. He seemed en- 
tirely occupied with his papers, and turned them over 
again and again. Bertram could hear it no longer; he 
hastened to him, and taking his hand pressed it affec- 
tionately to his lips. “My father,” said he, “forgive 
me; hut when I look at you, I am possessed by a vague 
fear which I cannot explain to myself. You know that 
I love you as my father, and for that reason can read your 
thoughts. Gotzkowsky, since my return I have read 
much care and sorrow in your face.” 

“Have you?” said Gotzkowsky, painfully; “yes, 
yes, sorrow does not write in hieroglyphics. It is a 
writing which he who runs can read.” 

“You confess, then, that you have sorrow, and yet 
you hide it from me. You do not let me share your 
cares. Have I deserved that of you, father? ” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


325 


Gotzkowsky arose and paced the room, thoughtful 
and excited. For the first time he felt that the sym- 
pathy of a loving heart did good. Involuntarily the 
crust which surrounded his heart gave way, and he be- 
came gentle and eager for sympathy. He held out his 
hand to Bertram and nodded to him. “ You are right, 
my son, said he, gently, “ I should not have kept my 
sorrows from you. It is a comfort, perhaps, to unbosom 
one’s self. Listen, then— but no! first tell me what is 
said of me in the city, and, above all, what is said of me 
at the Bourse? Ah? you cast your eyes down — Ber- 
tram, I must and will know all. Speak out freely. I 
have courage to hear the utmost.” But yet his voice 
trembled as he spoke, and his lips twitched convulsively. 

Bertram answered sadly: “ What do you care about 
the street gossip of envious people? You know that 
you have enemies, because you are rich and high-minded. 
You have long been envied because your house is the 
most extensive and solid in all Europe, and because your 
drafts stand at par in all the markets. They are jealous 
of the fame of your firm, and for that very reason they 
whisper all sorts of things that they do not dare to say 
aloud. But why should you let such miserable scandal 
worry you? ” 

Bertram tried to smile, hut it was a sorrowful, anx- 
ious one, which did not escape Gotzkowsky. “Ah!” 
said he, “ these light whisperings of calumny are like the 
single snow-flakes which finally collect together and roll 
on and on, and at last become an avalanche which buries 
up our honor and our good name. Tell me, then, Ber- 
tram, what do they whisper? ” 

Bertram answered in a low, timid voice: “ They pre- 
tend to know that your house has suffered immense 
losses; that you were not able to meet your drafts; that 


326 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


all your wealth is unfounded; and that — but why should 
I repeat all the old women’s and newspaper stories? ” 

“ Even the newspapers talk about it, then ? ” mut- 
tered Gotzkowsky to himself. 

“Yes, the Vossian Gazette ,” continued Bertram, 
“ has an article in which it speaks mysteriously and sym- 
pathizingly of the impending failure of one of our most 
eminent houses. This is said to aim at you, father.” 

“ And the other paper, Speller’s Journal ? ” 

“ Is sorry to join in the statement, and confirms it to- 
day.” 

Gotzkowsky broke out into a mocking laugh, his 
countenance brightened with indignation, and his fea- 
tures expressed their former energy and decision. “ 0 
world! 0 men! ” he exclaimed, “ how pitiful, how mean 
you are! You know, Bertram, how much good I have 
done these men. I have protected them as a friend 
in the time of their need and affliction. I saved them 
from punishment and shame. In return they trumpet 
forth my misfortunes, and that which might have been 
altered by the considerate silence of my friends, they cry 
aloud to all the world, and thereby precipitate my fall.” 

“ It is, then, really true? ” asked Bertram, turning 
pale. “ You are in danger? ” 

“ To-day is the last term for the payment of the five 
hundred thousand dollars, which I have to pay our 
king, for the town of Leipsic. Our largest banking- 
houses have bought up these claims of the king against 
me.” 

“ But that is not your own debt. You only stood 
good for Leipsic.” 

“ That I did; and as Leipsic cannot pay, I must.” 

“But Leipsic can assume a portion of the debt at 
least.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


327 

“ Perhaps so/’ said Gotzkowsky. “I have sent a 
courier to Leipsic, and look for his return every hour. 
But it is not that alone which troubles me,” continued 
he, after a pause. “ It would be easy to collect the five 
hundred thousand dollars. The new and unexpected 
ordinance from the mint, which renders uncurrent the 
light money, deprives me of another half million. When 
I foresaw Leipsic’s insolvency, I had negotiated alone with 
Hamburg for half a million of light money. But the 
spies of the Jews of the mint discovered this, and when 
my money was in the course of transmission from Ham- 
burg they managed to obtain a decree from the king 
forbidding immediately the circulation of this coin. 
In this way my five hundred thousand dollars became 
good for nothing.” 

“ Horrible! ” cried Bertram; “ have you, then, not 
endeavored to save a portion of this money?” 

“ Yes, indeed,” cried Gotzkowsky, with a bitter 
laugh, u I have tried. I wished to send fifty thousand 
dollars of my money to the army of the allies, to see if 
it would be current there; but Ephraim had foreseen 
this, too, and obtained a decree forbidding even the tran- 
sit of this money through the Prussian dominions. This 
new and arbitrary law was only published after my money 
had left Hamburg, and I had grounds to hope that I 
would not be prevented from bringing it through the 
Prussian dominions, for it was concealed in the double 
bottom of a wagon. But avarice has sharp eyes, and the 
spies who were set upon all my actions succeeded in dis- 
covering this too. The wagon was stopped at the gates 
of Berlin, and the money was discovered where they 
knew it was beforehand, under this false bottom. But 
who do you think it was, Bertram, w T ho denounced me 
in this affair? You would never guess it — the chief 


328 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

burgomaster, President von Kircheisen! He stood him- 
self at the gate, watched for the wagon, and searched 
until he found the money.” 

“ Kircheisen! The same, father, whom you saved 
from death when the Russians were here? ” 

“ The same, my son; you shake your head incredu- 
lously. Read for yourself.” He took from his writing- 
table a large paper provided with the official seal, and 
handed it to Bertram. “Read for yourself, my son. 
It is an order from the minister Yon Finkenstein.” 

It was written thus: “ The half of the sum is awarded 
by the king to President von Kircheisen, as detective 
and informer.” 

“A worthy title, ‘detective and informer/” con- 
tinued Gotzkowsky. “ By Heaven, I do not envy him 
it! But now you shall know all. It does me good to 
confide to you my sorrows — it lightens my poor heart. 
And now I have another fear. You have heard of my 
speculation in the Russian magazines? ” 

“ Of the magazines which you, with He Heufville 
and the bankers Moses and Samuel, bought?” asked 
Bertram. j 

“ Yes, that is it. But Russia would not enter into 
the bargain unless I made myself responsible for the 
whole sum.” 

“ And you did so ? ” asked Bertram, trembling. 

“ I did. The purchase-money has been due for four 
months. My fellow-contractors have not paid. If 
Russia insists upon the payment of this debt, I am 
ruined.” 

“And why do not Samuel and Moses pay their 
part? ” 

Gotzkowsky did not answer immediately, but when 
he did, his features expressed scorn and contempt: 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 329 

“ Moses and Samuel are no longer obliged to pay, be- 
cause yesterday they declared themselves insolvent.” 

Bertram suppressed with effort a cry of anger, and 
covered his face with his hands. “ He is lost,” he mut- 
tered to himself, “ lost beyond redemption, for he founds 
his hopes on De Neufville, and he knows nothing of his 
unfortunate fate.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

CONFESSIONS. 

When Bertram raised his head again, Gotzkowsky 
was standing near him, looking brightly and lovingly 
into his sorrowful, twitching face. It was now Gotz- 
kowsky who had to console Bertram, and, smiling quiet- 
ly and gently, he told him of the hopes which still re- 
mained to him. 

“ Be Neufville may return,” he said. “ He has only 
gone to the opening of the bank at Amsterdam, and if 
he succeeds in collecting the necessary sum there, and 
returns with it as rapidly as possible to Berlin, I am 
saved.” 

“ But if he does not come?” asked Bertram with 
a trembling voice, fixing his sad looks penetratingly on 
Gotzkowsky. 

“ Then I am irretrievably lost,” answered Gotzkow- 
sky, in a loud, firm voice. 

Bertram stepped quickly up to him, and threw him- 
self in his arms, folding him to his breast as if to protect 
him against all the danger which threatened him. “ You 
must be saved!” cried he, eagerly; “ it is not possible 


330 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

that you should fall. You have never deserved such a 
misfortune.” 

“ For that very reason I fear that I must suffer it. 
If I deserved this disgrace, perhaps it never would have 
happened to me. The world is so fashioned, that what 
we deserve of good or evil never happens to us.” 

“ But you have friends; thousands are indebted to 
your generosity, and to your ever-ready, helping hand. 
There is scarcely a merchant in Berlin to whom, some 
time or other, you have not been of assistance in his 
need! ” 

Gotzkowsky laid his hand on his shoulder, and re- 
plied with a proud air: “ My friend, it is precisely those 
who owe me gratitude, who are now trying to ruin me. 
The very fact of having obliged them, makes them my 
bitter enemies. Gratitude is so disagreeable a virtue, 
that men become implacably hostile to those who impose 
it on them.” 

“ When you speak thus, my father,” said Bertram, 
glowing with noble indignation, “ you condemn me, 
too. You have bound me to everlasting gratitude, and 
yet I love you inexpressibly for it.” 

“ You are a rare exception, my son,” replied Gotz- 
kowsky, sadly, “ and I thank God, who has taught me to 
know you.” 

“ You believe, then, in me? ” asked Bertram, look- 
ing earnestly in his eyes. 

“ I believe in you,” said Gotzkowsky, solemnly, offer- 
ing him his hand. 

“ Well, then, my father,” cried Bertram, quickly and 
gladly, “ in this important moment let me make an 
urgent request of you. You call me your son; give me, 
then, the rights of a son. Allow me the happiness of 
offering you the little that I can call mine. My fortune 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 33^ 

is not, to be sure, sufficient to save you, but it can at least 
be of service to you. Father, I owe you every thing. 
It is yours— take it back.” 

“ Never! ” interrupted Gotzkowsky. 

But Bertram continued more urgently: “At least 
consider of it. When you founded the porcelain factory, 
you made me a partner in this business, and I accepted it,' 
although I had nothing but what belonged to you! 
When the king, a year ago, bought the factory from you, 
you paid me a fourth of the purchase-money, and gave 
me thirty thousand dollars. I accepted it, although I 
had not contributed any part of the capital.” 

“ You are mistaken, my son. You forget that you 
contributed the capital of your knowledge and genius.” 

One cannot live on genius,” cried Bertram, impa- 
tiently; “and with all my knowledge I might have 
starved, if you had not taken me by the hand.” 

Gotzkowsky would have denied this, but Bertram 
continued still more pressingly: “Father, if I were, 
indeed, your son, could you then deny me the right of 
falling and being ruined with you? Can you deny your 
son the right of dividing with you what is his? ” 

“No! ” cried Gotzkowsky, “ from my son I could de- 
mand the sacrifice, but it is not only a question of earthly 
possessions, it is a question of my most sacred spiritual 
good, it is the honor of my name. Had I a son, I would 
exact of him that he should follow me unto death, so 
that the honor of my name might be saved.” 

“ W ell, then, let me be, indeed, your son. Give me 
your daughter! ” 

Gotzkowsky stepped back in astonishment and gazed 
at Bertram's noble, excited countenance. “ Ah! ” cried 
he, “I thank you, Bertram; you are a noble man! I 
understand you. You have found out the sorrow which 


332 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


gnaws most painfully at my heart; that Elise, by my 
failure, becomes a beggar. You wish most nobly to as- 
sist her and protect her from want.” 

“ No, father, I desire her for her own sake — because 
I love her! I would wish to he your son, in order to have 
the right to give up all for you, and to work for you. 
During your whole life you have done so much for 
others; now grant me the privilege of doing some- 
thing for you. Give me your daughter; let me be your 
son.” 

Gotzkowsky was silent for some minutes, then looked 
at Bertram sadly and sorrowfully. “ You know that this 
has always been the wish of my heart. But what I have 
longed for, for so many years, that I must now refuse. 
I dare not drag you down in my misfortune, and even if 
I were weak enough to yield to your request, I cannot 
sacrifice the happiness of my daughter to my welfare. 
Do you believe, Bertram, that Elise loves you? ” 

“ She is kind to me, and is anxious for my welfare — 
that is enough,” said Bertram, sadly. “ I have learned 
for many a long year to renounce all claim to her love.” 

“ But if she loves another? I fear her heart is hut 
too true, and has not forgotten the trifler who destroyed 
her happiness. Ah! when I think of this man, my 
heart trembles with anger and grief. In the hour of 
death I could forgive all my enemies, hut the hatred 
toward this man, who has so wantonly trifled with the 
faith and love of my child, that hatred I will take with 
me into the grave — and yet, I fear, Elise has not forgot- 
ten him.” 

“ This dead love does not give me any uneasiness,” 
said Bertram. “ Four years have passed since that un- 
lucky day.” 

“And for four years have I been faithful in my 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 333 

hatred to him. May not Elise have been as constant in 
her love? ” 

Bertram sighed and drooped his head. “It is too 
true, love does not die so easily.” Then after a pause he 
added in a determined voice: “I repeat my request — 
give me your daughter! ” 

“ You know that she does not love you, and yet you 
still desire her hand ? ” 

“ I do. I have confidence enough in her and in my- 
self to believe Elise will not refuse it to me, hut will 
freely make this sacrifice, when she learns that you will 
only allow me, as your son, the privilege of sharing my 
little fortune with you. For her love to you, she will 
give me her hand, and invest me with the rights of a son 
toward you.” 

“ Never! ” cried Gotzkowsky, vehemently. “ She 
must never be informed of that of which we have been 
speaking. She does not forebode the misfortune which 
threatens her. I have not the courage to tell her, and 
why should I? When the terrible event happens, she 
will learn it soon enough, and if it can he averted, why 
then I can spare her this unhappiness. For my child 
I wish a clear, unclouded sky; let me hear the clouds 
and storms. That has always been the object of my life, 
and I will remain faithful to it to the last.” 

“ You refuse me, then? ” asked Bertram, pained. 

“ No, my son. I accept you, and that which you 
have given me in this hour, the treasure of your love; 
that I can never lose. That remains mine, even if they 
deprive me of all else.” 

He opened his arms, and Bertram threw himself 
weeping on his breast. Long did they thus remain, 
heart to heart, in silence; hut soul spoke to soul without 
words and without expressions of love. 

22 


334 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


When Gotzkowsky raised himself from Bertram s 
embrace, his countenance was calm, and almost cheerful. 
“ I thank you, my son; you have given me new courage 
and strength. Now I will preserve all my composure. 
I will humble my pride, and apply to those who in for- 
mer times professed gratitude toward me. The Council 
of Berlin have owed me twenty thousand ducats since 
the time that the Russians were here, and I had to travel 
twice in the service of the town to Petersburg and War- 
saw. These accounts have never been asked for. I 
will make it my business to remind the Council of them, 
as in the days of their need they swore eternal gratitude 
to me. Come, Bertram, let us see whether these worship- 
ful magistrates are any better than other men, and 
whether they have any recollection of those sacred prom- 
ises which they made me in the days when they needed 
help, and when misfortune threatened them.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE RUSSIAN PRINCE. 

Before the door of the first hotel in Berlin stood a 
travelling-carriage covered with dust. The team of six 
post-horses, and the two servants on the coach-box, 
showed that it was a personage of quality who now hon- 
ored the hotel with a visit; and it was therefore very 
natural that the host should hurry out and open the car- 
riage door with a most respectful how. 

A very tall, thin man descended from the carriage 
with slow and solemn dignity, and as he entered the 
house gravely and in silence, his French valet asked the 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 335 

host whether he had rooms elegant enough to suit the 
Prince Stratimojeff. 

The countenance of the host expanded into a glowing 
smile; he snatched the candlestick hastily from the 
hands of the head butler, and flew up the steps himself 
to prepare the room of state for the prince. 

The French valet examined the rooms with a critical 
eye, and declared that, though they were not worthy of 
his highness, yet he would condescend to occupy them. 

The prince still remained silent, his travelling-cap 
drawn deep down over his face, and his whole figure 
concealed in the ample robe of sable fur, which reached 
to his feet. He motioned to the host with his hand to 
leave the room; then, in a few short words, he ordered 
his valet to see to supper, and to have it served up in an 
adjoining room, and as at that moment a carriage drove 
up to the house, he commissioned him to see whether 
it was his suite. The valet stated that it was his high- 
ness’s private secretary, his man of business, and his 
chaplain. 

“I will not see them to-day— they may seek their 
own pleasure,” said the prince, authoritatively. “ Tell 
them that our business begins to-morrow. But for you, 
Guillaume, I have an important commission. Go to the 
host and inquire for the rich banker, John Gotzkowsky; 
and when you have found where he lives, enter into 
further conversation, and get some information about 
the circumstances of this gentleman. I wish to learn, 
too, about his family; ask about his daughter— if she be 
still unmarried, and whether she is now in Berlin. In 
short, find out all you can.” 

The courteous and obedient valet had left the room 
some time, but Prince Stratimojeff still stood motionless, 
his eyes cast on the ground, and muttering some unin- 


THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 


336 

telligible words. Suddenly, with an impatient move- 
ment, he threw his furred robe from his shoulders, and 
cast his head-gear far into the room. 

“ Air! air! I suffocate! ” cried he. “ I feel as if this 
town lay on my chest like a hundred-pound weight, and 
that I have to conceal myself like a criminal from the 
eyes of men.” 

He threw his cloak open, and took a long and deep 
breath. 

What was it, then, that so strangely excited Prince 
Stratimojeff, and shook his very hones as with an ague? 
It was the memory of former days; it was the painful and 
damning voice of Conscience which tormented him. 
What reason had he to inquire after Gotzkowsky the 
hanker, and his daughter? How! Had the heart of 
Count Feodor von Brenda become so hardened, that 
when he returned to Berlin he should not long to hear 
of her whom he had once so shamefully betrayed? 

It was indeed himself. Colonel Count Feodor von 
Brenda had become transformed into the Prince Strati- 
mojeff. Four short years had passed, hut what desola- 
tion had they not caused in his inner life!— four years 
of dissolute pleasure, of mad, enervating enjoyment; 
four bacchanalian years of sensual dissipation and ex- 
travagance; four years passed at the court of two Rus- 
sian empresses! In these four years Elizabeth had died; 
and for a few days the unfortunate Peter III. had worn 
the imperial crown. But it had proved too heavy for 
him; and his great consort, Catharine, full of compas- 
sion and Russian humanity for him, had sought to 
lighten his load! Only, in her too great zeal, she had 
taken not only his crown, hut his head, and changed his 
prison for a grave. 

The Guards shouted for the new empress as they had 


THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 


337 

done for the old. In the presence of their beautiful 
young sovereign they remembered with delight the 
graciousness of her predecessor, who, in the fulness of 
her kindness and power, had made princes of the subal- 
terns, and great lords of the privates. 

Why should not Catharine resemble Elizabeth in that 
respect, and show favor to the splendid soldiers of the 
Guards? She was merciful. She was a gracious mis- 
tress to all her subjects, but especially so to the handsome 
men of her empire. And the Count von Brenda was a 
very handsome man. He had been the favorite of 
Elizabeth, why should he not also be the favorite of 
Catharine? The former had treated him with motherly 
kindness, for she was old; but Catharine was young, and 
in her proud breast there beat an ardent heart— a heart 
that was so powerful and large, that it had room for 
more than one lover. 

The young count had been for some short months 
the declared darling of the empress, and the whole world 
did homage to him, and looked upon it as a matter of 
course that Catharine should make him Prince Strati- 
mojeff, and bestow on him not only orders and titles, 
but lands and thousands of slaves. 

What a mad, intoxicating, joyous life was his! How 
all the world envied the handsome, rich prince, sur- 
rounded by the halo of imperial favor! But neverthe- 
less a cloud lay always on his brow, and he plunged into 
the sea of pleasure like one ill of fever, who seeks 
something to cool the heat which is consuming him. 
He threw himself into the arms of dissipation, as the 
criminal condemned to execution, who in the intoxica- 
tion of champagne revels away the last hours of life in 
order to banish the thought that Death stands behind 
him, reaching forth his hand to seize him. 


338 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Thus did the prince strive in the wild excitement of 
pleasure to kill thought and deaden his heart. But 
there would come quiet hours to remind him of the 
past, and, at times, in the middle of the night, he would 
start up from his couch, as if he had heard a scream, 
a single heart-piercing cry, which rang through his very 
soul. 

But this scream existed only in his dreams, those 
dreams in which Elise’s pale, sad face appeared, and 
made him tremble before her indignant and despair- 
ing grief. Near this light figure of his beloved appeared 
another pallid woman, whose sorrowful looks tortured 
him, and struck his soul with anguish. He thought he 
saw his wife, the late Countess Lodoiska von Sandomir, 
who, with weeping eyes, demanded of him her murdered 
happiness, her youth, her life. 

She was dead; she had died of grief, for she had felt 
that the man for whom she had sacrificed every thing — 
her youth, her honor, and her duty — despised her, and 
could never forgive her for having cheated him into tak- 
ing her for his wife. She died the victim of his contempt 
and hatred. Not suddenly, not as with a lightning-stroke, 
did his contempt kill, hut slowly and steadily did it 
pierce her heart. She bore the torture for one desolate, 
disconsolate year, and then she died solitary and for- 
saken. No loving hand dried the death-sweat on her 
cold forehead; no pitying lips whispered words of love 
and hope to her; yet on her death-bed, her heart was 
still warm toward her husband, and even then she blessed 
him. 

A letter written by her trembling hand in her last 
hours, full of humble, earnest love, of forgiving gentle- 
ness, which her husband the prince found on his writ- 
ing-table, as well as another, directed to Elise Gotz- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 339 

kowsky, and enclosed in the first, bore witness to this 
fact. 

Lodoiska had loved her husband sufficiently to be 
aware of the cause of his wild and extravagant life, to 
know that in the bottom of his heart he was suffering 
from the only true love of his life— his love for Elise* 
and that all the rest was only a mad and desperate effort 
to deaden his feelings and smother his desire. 

Elise’s image followed him everywhere; and his love 
for her, which might have been the blessing of a good 
man’s life, had been a cruel curse to that of a guilty one. 
In the midst of the wild routs, the private orgies of the 
imperial court, her image rose before him from these 
waves of maddening pleasure as a guardian angel, hush- 
ing him often into silence, and stopping the wanton jest 
on his quivering lips. 

At times during these feasts and dances, he was 
seized with a boundless, unspeakable dread, a torturing 
anxiety. He felt inexpressibly desolate, and the com 
sciousness of his lost, his wasted existence haunted him, 

while it seemed as if an inner voice was whispering 

“ Go, flee to her! with Elise is peace and innocence. If 
you are to be saved, Elise will save you.” 

But he had not the strength to obey the warning 
voice of his heart; he was bound in gilded fetters, and, 
even if love were absent, pride and vanity prevented him 
from breaking these bonds. He was the favorite of the 
young empress, and the great of the empire bowed down 
before him, and felt themselves happy in his smile, and 
honored by the pressure of his hand. But every thing 
is changeable. Even the heart of the Empress Catharine 
was fickle. 

One day the Prince Stratimojeff received a note from 
his imperial mistress, in which she intrusted him with 


340 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


a diplomatic mission to Germany, and requested him, on 
account of the urgency of the occasion, to start imme- 
diately. 

Feodor understood the hidden meaning of this ap- 
parently gracious and loving letter; he understood that 
he had fallen into disgrace — not that he had committed 
any error or crime. It was only that Count Orloff was 
handsomer and more amiable than himself, or at least 
that he seemed so to the empress. Therefore Feodor’s 
presence was inconvenient to her; for at that time in 
the commencement of her reign, Catharine had still 
some modesty left, and th*e place of favorite had not yet 
become an official position at court, hut only a public 
secret. As yet, she avoided bringing the discharged 
favorite in contact with the newly appointed one, and 
therefore Feodor had to be removed before Count Alexis 
Orloff could enter on his duties. 

Prince Feodor Stratimojeff crushed the perfumed 
imperial note in his hand, and muttered through his set 
teeth: “ She has sacrificed me to an Orloff! She wishes 
to send me away, that she may more securely play this 
new farce of love. Very well; I will go, hut not to return 
to he deceived anew by her vows of love and glances of 
favor. No! let this breach he eternal. Catharine shall 
feel that, although an empress, she is a woman whom I 
despise. Therefore let there he no word of farewell, not 
even the smallest request. She bids me go, and I go. 
And would it not seem as if Fate pointed out to me the 
way I am to go? Is it not a strange chance that Catha- 
rine should choose me for this mission to Germany ? ” 

It was indeed a singular accident that the empress 
unintentionally should have sent hack her discharged 
favorite to the only woman whom he had ever loved. He 
was sent as ambassador extraordinary to Berlin, to press 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


341 


more urgently her claims on a Prussian banker, to bring 
up before the Prussian department for foreign affairs 
the merchant John Gotzkowsky with regard to her de- 
mand for two millions of dollars; and, in case he refused 
to pay it, to try in a diplomatic way whether Prussia 
could not he induced to support this demand of the 
empress, and procure immediate payment. 

This was the mission which Catharine had confided 
to Prince Stratimojeff, who, when he determined to 
undertake it, said to himself: “ I will take vengeance on 
this proud woman who thinks to cast me off like a toy of 
which she has tired; I will show her that my heart is 
unmoved by her infidelity; I will present to her my 
young wife, whose beauty, youth, and innocence will 
cause her to blush for shame.” 

Never had he been so fascinating and lively, so bril- 
liant and sparkling with wit, as on the evening preceding 
his departure. His jests were the boldest and freest; 
they made even the empress blush, and sent her blood 
hot and bounding through her veins. The court, that 
would have been delighted to have seen the long-envied 
and hated favorite now abashed and humbled before his 
newly-declared successor, remarked with astonishment 
and bitter mortification that the humiliation was 
changed into a triumph; for the empress, charmed by 
his amiability and wit, seemed to turn her heart again 
toward him, and to entreat him with the tenderest 
looks to forgive her faithlessness. She had already 
forgotten the unfortunate embassy which was to re- 
move Feodor from her court, when he himself came 
to remind her of it. 

While all countenances were still beaming with de- 
light over a precious bon mot which Feodor had just per- 
petrated, and at which the empress herself had laughed 


34:2 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


aloud, he stepped up to her and requested her blessing 
on his voyage to Germany, which he was going to com- 
mence that night. 

Catharine felt almost inclined to withdraw her or- 
ders and request him to remain, hut she was woman 
enough to he able to read pride and defiance in his face. 
She therefore contented herself with wishing him a 
speedy return to his duty. Publicly, in the presence of 
the whole court and her new favorite, she afforded Prince 
Stratimojeff a fresh triumph: she hade him kneel, and 
taking a golden chain to which her portrait was at- 
tached, she threw the links around his neck. Kissing 
him gently on the forehead, with a gracious smile full 
of promise, she said to him only, “ Au revoir ! ” 


CHAPTER IX. 

OLD LOVE — NEW SORROW. 

Elise was in her room. Her face expressed a quiet, 
silent resignation, and her large dark eyes had a dreamy 
but bright look. She sat in an easy-chair, reading, and 
whoever had seen her with her high, open forehead and 
calm looks, would have thought her one of those happy 
and fortunate beings whom Heaven had blessed with 
eternal rest and cheerful composure, who was unac- 
quainted with the corroding poison of passionate grief. 
Ho trace of the storm which had raged through her life 
could he seen on her countenance. Her grief had eaten 
inwardly, and only her heart and the spirit of her youth 
had died; her face had remained young and handsome. 
The vigor of her youth had overcome the grief of her 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


343 


spirit, and her cheeks, although colorless and transparent 
in their paleness, were still free from that sallow, sickly 
pallor, which is the herald of approaching dissolution. 
She was apparently healthy and young, and only sick and 
cold at heart. Perhaps she only needed some sunbeams 
to warm up again her chilled heart, only some gleam of 
hope to make her soul young again, and strong and 
ready once more to love and to suffer. She had never 
forgotten, never ceased to think of the past, nor of him 
whom she had loved so unspeakably, whom her soul 
could not let go. 

The memories of the past were the life of the present 
to her. The tree in the garden which he had admired, 
the flowers he had loved and which since then had four 
times renewed their bloom, the rustling of the fir-trees 
which sounded from the wall, all spoke of him, and 
caused her heart to beat, she knew not whether with 
anger or with pain. Even now, as she sat in her room, 
her thoughts and fancies were busy with him. She had 
been reading, but the book dropped from her hand. 
From the love-scenes which were described in it her 
thoughts roamed far and wide, and awakened the dreams 
and hopes of the past. 

But Elise did not like to give herself up to these 
reveries, and at times had a silent horror even of her 
own thoughts. She did not like to confess to herself 
that she still hoped in the man who had betrayed her. 
She had, as it were, a sympathizing pity with herself; 
she threw a veil over her heart, to hide from herself 
that it still quivered with pain and love. Only at times, 
in the quiet and solitude of her chamber, she ventured 
to draw aside the veil, to look down into the depths of 
her soul, and, in agonizing delight, in one dream blend 
together the present and the past. She leaned back in 


34 4 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

her chair, her large dark eyes fixed on vacancy. Some 
passage in the book had reminded her of her own sad 
love, had struck on her heart like the hammer of a bell, 
and in response it had returned but one single note, the 
word “ Feodor.” 

“ Ah, Feodor! ” she whispered to herself, but with a 
shudder at the name, and a blush suffused her otherwise 
pale cheeks for a moment. “ It is the first time my 
lips have spoken his name, but my heart is constantly 
repeating it in hopeless grief, and in my dreams he still 
lives. I have accepted my fate; to the world I have 
separated from him; to myself, never! Oh, how mys- 
terious is the heart! I hate and yet I love him.” She 
covered her face with her hands, and sat long silent and 
motionless. A noise at the door aroused her. It was only 
Marianne, her maid, who came to announce that a strange 
gentleman was outside, who earnestly requested to speak 
to her. Elise trembled, she knew not why. A prophetic 
dread seized her soul, and in a voice scarcely audible she 
asked the name of her visitor. 

“ He will not give his name,” answered the maid. 
“He says the name is of no consequence. He had a 
letter to deliver from the Countess Lodoiska, of St. 
Petersburg.” 

Elise uttered a cry, and sprang from her seat — she 
knew all. Her heart told her that he was near. It 
must be himself. She felt as if she must hasten to her 
father for protection and safety; but her feet refused to 
carry her. She trembled so, that she was obliged to 
hold on to the arm of a chair to keep herself from falling. 
She motioned with her hand to deny him admittance, 
but Marianne did not understand her; for, opening the 
door, she invited the stranger in, and then left him. 

And now they stood in presence of each other, silent 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


345 


and breathless — Elise trembling with excitement and 
bitter feeling, wrestling with her own emotion, and 
deeply abashed by the meeting. Both uttered an in- 
ward prayer — but how different were their two aspira- 
tions! 

“ Now, God or devil! ” thought Feodor, “ give my 
words power, lend enchantment to my tongue, that I 
may win Elise! ” 

Elise prayed to herself: “ Have mercy on me, 0 God! 
Take this love from me, or let me die.” 

In sad silence these two, so long separated, stood 
opposite to each other — both hesitating, he knowing that 
he was guilty, she ashamed of the consciousness of her 
love. But finally he succeeded in breaking the silence. 
He whispered her name, and as she, alarmed and shud- 
dering, looked up at him, he stretched out his arms im- 
ploringly toward her. And then she felt, thought, knew 
nothing but him. She uttered a cry, and rushed for- 
ward to throw herself in his arms. But suddenly she 
stopped. Her dream was at an end, and now awaking 
from the first ecstasy of seeing him again, she collected 
herself, and stood before him in the whole pride and 
dignity of her offended honor. She found courage to 
sacrifice her own heart, and, with cold, constrained 
manner, bowing to him, she asked, “ Colonel von Brenda, 
whom do you wish to see? ” 

The prince sighed deeply, and let his arms drop. 
“ It is over,” said he; “ she no longer loves me! ” 

Low as these words had been spoken, Elise had 
seized their purport, and they touched her to the quick. 
“What do you wish?” she continued. 

“ Nothing! ” said he, despondently. “ I have made 
a mistake. I expected to find a faithful heart, a woman 
like an angel, ready in the hour of meeting to forget all 


346 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

else, and take refuge in this heart; to forgive, and, with 
her blessing, to wipe out the curse of my existence. This 
is -what I sought. But God is just, and I did not de- 
serve such happiness. I submit.” 

“ Oh, my God! ” said Elise to herself, “ it is the same 
voice which once charmed me.” She no longer found 
strength in herself to hid him go. She would have given 
her life blood to be able always to he thus near him. 

“ This time, young lady,” said Feodor, “ I come only 
as a messenger, the executor of the will of one who is 
dead.” He took a letter from his bosom and handed it 
to Elise. “ I bring you,” he said solemnly, “the last 
will of my wife, Countess Lodoiska.” 

“ She is no longer alive? ” cried Elise, and involun- 
tarily an almost joyful tone pervaded her voice. 

This did not escape the prince. “ I will win her,” 
said he to himself. His eyes shone brighter, his counte- 
nance looked prouder, and his heart heat higher with 
triumphant joy. Elise had taken the letter, and still 
held it in her hand. “ Will you not read it? ” asked he, 
gently, and her heart trembled at the pleading tone of 
his voice. 

“Yes, I will read it,” she answered, as if awaking 
from a dream, and breaking the seal hastily. 

The prince fixed his sharp, piercing eyes on her, and 
seemed to wish to read in her looks her inmost thoughts, 
and feeling them favorable to him, he approached still 
closer to her. 

The letter was short and hastily written, hut every 
word entered her soul and brought tears to her eyes. 
It ran thus: 

“ My dear Elise, when you receive this letter I shall 
he no more, and the heart which has suffered so much 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


347 

will be at rest. But when I have found repose in the 
grave, do you fulfil my trusts I leave you the dearest 
legacy that I possess. I give you hack your property, 
the heart and love of Feodor, which never ceased to 
belong to you. I never have been able to win this love 
to myself. He gave me his hand, his heart remains 
yours, and that is killing me. Take it then, it is my 
legacy to you; and if you accept it my purified spirit will 
bless your reunion. Lodoiska.” 

The letter dropped from her hand; completely over- 
powered by deep and solemn emotions, she sank in her 
chair, and hid her tears with her hands. Feodor felt 
that she was again his, that he had regained his sway 
over her. He rushed toward her, falling at her feet, 
and passionately snatching her hands from her face, he 
exclaimed, Elise! in this moment her spirit is hovering 
over us. She blesses this love which she has already for- 
given. Oh, if you only knew what I have suffered for 
you, you would, at least, not be angry with me. You 
would pardon me for the sake of what I have under- 
gone.” 

“ Have I then not suffered also?” she asked, turn- 
ing her flee, covered with tears, toward him. 

“Oh! leave me here at your feet,” he continued. 
“ Look upon me as a poor pilgrim who has wandered to 
the holy Sepulchre in order to cleanse his heart of its 
sins at the sanctuary by sincere repentance and prayers 
for forgiveness. You are my sanctuary, to you my heart 
bends; the poor pilgrim has come to you to confess and 
be shrived before he dies. Will you, my Madonna, hear 
him? May I tell you what I have endured, how much 
I have suffered ? ” 

“ Speak,” she said, half conscious, but eagerly listen- 


348 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


ing to the music of his voice. “ Tell me what you have 
suffered, that I may forget my own sufferings when I 
gave you up.” 

“ Oh! ” he continued, with a shudder, “ I shall never 
forget that fearful moment when I became aware of the 
deception, and discovered that it was not you, but Lodo- 
iska, whom I held in my arms. A raving madness seized 
me, which threatened my own life. Lodoiska turned 
aside the dagger, and pronounced your name. That 
name recalled me to life, to the knowledge of my crime. 
I submitted to the punishment which I had merited, and 
which you had imposed upon me. I led Lodoiska to the 
altar, at which I had hoped to see you. I made her my 
wife, and my heart pronounced your name, while my 
lips bound me to her. It was a terrible hour, a fearful 
agony raged within me, and it has never left me since. 
It was there, when Lodoiska pressed me to her heart. 
It was present in the tumult of battle. Then, however, 
when death raged around me, when destruction thun- 
dered from the enemy’s cannon, then I became cheerful, 
and the pang left me as I rushed amid the enemy’s ranks. 
But even death itself retreated before me — I found 
on the battle-field only honor and fame, but not the 
object for which I fought, not death. I lived* to suffer 
and to expiate my crime toward you, Elise. But 
one hope sustained me, the hope one day to fall at 
your feet, to clasp your knees, and to sue for forgive- 
ness.” 

Completely overcome by his own passionate descrip- 
tion, he bowed his head on her knees, and wept aloud. 
He had succeeded in rousing his own sympathy; he 
believed in his own grief. He had so feelingly played 
the part of a repentant sinner, an ardent lover, that for 
a moment probability and reality had become blended 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 349 

in one, and he felt himself thoroughly possessed by 
crushing repentance. 

But Elise believed in him. His voice sounded like 
music m her ear, and every fibre of her heart thrilled 
and quivered. The past with its griefs and sorrows 
was gone forever, he was once more there, with no 
stranger to come between them, and she only felt that 
she loved him without bounds. 

He embraced her knees, looking pleadingly up in 
her face. " Elise, forgive me,” cried he; “say but one 
word, ‘ Pardon/ and I will go away in silence, and never 
again dare to approach you.” 

Elise had no longer power to withstand him. She 
opened her arms, and threw them with passionate tender- 
ness around his neck. “Feodor, love does not forgive 
it loves,” she cried with unspeakable rapture, and tears 
of delight hurst from her eyes. 

Feodor uttered a cry of joy, and sprang up to draw 
her to his breast, to cover her face with kisses, to whisper 
words of delight, of tenderness, of passionate love, in her 
listening ear. “ Oh! now all is right again — now you are 
again mine. These four years are as if they had not been. 
It was all a mournful dream — and we are now awake. 
Now we know that we love each other, that we belong to 
each other, forever. Come, Elise, it is the same hour 
which then called us to the altar. Come, the priest 
waits. For four long years have I hoped for this hour. 
Come, my beloved.” 

He threw his strong arm around her and raised her to 
his breast to draw her forth with him. As Elise drew 
herself gently back, he continued still more passionately: 

“ 1 wil1 not let you go, for you are mine. You have be- 
trothed yourself to me for life or death. Come/the 
priest is waiting, and to-day shall you be my wife This 
23 


350 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


time no unfriendly hand shall impose itself between ns, 
and Lodoiska no longer lives.” 

“ But my father lives,” said Elise, as earnestly and 
proudly she freed herself from Feodor’s arms. “ With- 
out his consent I do not leave this threshold. It was for 
that the Lord punished us. My father’s blessing w r as not 
upon our love, and I had sinned grievously against him. 
Now, it is expiated, and Fate is appeased. Let us go 
hand in hand to my father, and ask his blessing on our 
love, that love which has remained undiminished 
through so many years of grief.” 

“ I submit to you. I will obey your will in every 
thing. But will not your father reject me? I feel that 
he must hate me for the tears I have caused you to shed.” 

“ He will love you when he sees that you have taught 
me to smile once more,” said she gently. “ Come to 
my father.” 

She wished to draw him along with her. But his 
consciousness of guilt held him hack. He wanted the 
daring courage to face this man whom he had been sent 
to ruin; and involuntarily he shrank back from his own 
deeds. I dare not go before him so suddenly and unpre- 
pared,” said he hesitatingly. 

“ Then allow me to prepare him for your presence.” 

“ And if he denies his sanction? ” 

“ He will not do it.” 

“ He has sworn never to allow you to marry a Rus- 
sian.” 

“ Oh, that was long ago,” said she, smiling, “ when 
Russia was our enemy. Now we are at peace. The 
bloody streams of discord are dried up, and an angel of 
peace rules over all countries. Even my father will feel 
his influence, and make peace with you and me.” 

Feodor did not answer immediately. He stood 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


351 


thoughtful and contemplative, weighing the necessary 
and unavoidable, and considering what he should do. 
One thing only was clear. Neither Elise nor Goizkow- 
sky must he allowed to suspect on what extraordinary 
mission his empress had sent him thither. Only when 
Elise was irrevocably bound to him, when she was his 
without recall, when Gotzkowsky had given his consent 
to their union, then would he dare to disclose it to him. 
It was necessary, above all, to postpone the negotiations 
about the Russian demands for a day, and therefore he 
only gave his agents his instructions, and imposed on 
them silence and inactivity for a day longer. The prin- 
cipal thing, however, was to convince Elise and her 
father that their union should suffer no delay, because 
he was only allowed to remain a few hours. He put his 
arm around Elise’s slender waist and pressed her to his 
heart. “ Listen to me, my beloved; my time has been 
hut sparingly dealt out to me. I have come on with 
courier horses, so as to allow me more leisure on my re- 
turn with you. But to-day we must leave, for the army 
is on the frontier, equipped and ready for war. Only 
out of special favor did the empress allow me a short 
leave of absence, to fetch my wife. In her clemency she 
has done what she was able to do, and I must now obey 
her orders to return speedily, if I do not wish to bring 
her anger down upon me. That nothing miglit pre- 
vent or delay us, I have brought a chaplain of our Church 
with me, to bless our union. You see, my beloved, that 
every thing is ready, and all that is wanting is the 
wreath of myrtle in your hair.” 

“ the blessing of my father,” she replied sol- 
emnly. 

Feodor’s brow darkened and an angry expression 
flashed across his countenance. Elise did not perceive it. 


352 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


for, in her noble forgetfulness of self, she had leaned her 
head on his breast, and all doubt and distrust were alien 
to her,free and confiding love. The love of a woman 
is of divine nature; it forgives all, it suffers all; it is as 
strong in giving as in forgiving. Every woman when 
she loves is an inspired poetess; the divine frenzy has 
seized her, and poetic utterances of ecstasy issue from her 
trembling lips. This poor girl, too, had become in- 
spired. Confidingly happy, she reposed on the breast 
of the man whom she had never ceased to love, whom she 
had blest in the midst of her bitterest tears, whom she 
had prayed for, earnestly entreating God to have mercy 
on him. 

“ Do you go to your father,” said Feodor, after a 
pause. “ Pray for his consent and his blessing on both 
of us __i hasten to prepare every thing. Tell your father 
that my whole life shall he spent in the endeavor to re- 
deem every tear you have shed for me with a smile; that 
I will love him as a son to whom he has given the dearest 
treasure of life, his Elise.” 

He pressed her to his heart and kissed her forehead. 
Elise raised her face from his breast, and smiled on him 
with loving emotion. But he placed his hands over her 
eyes; he was not callous enough to he able to bear those 
innocent, yielding, tender looks. 

“ I’ must he gone,” he said. “ But this shall he our 
last separation, and when I return, it shall he to lead you 
to the altar. In an hour, dearest, you must he ready. 
At the end of that time, I will come to take you to St. 
Petersburg, and present you at the empress’s court as my 
bride, the Princess Stratimojeff.” 

He looked down at her with an air of triumph, to see 
what impression his words would have on her. He had 
expected to prepare a pleasurable surprise for her with 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


353 


the princely title — to see her blush with proud satisfac- 
tion. But Elise felt neither elevated nor honored by the 
high rank. What did she care whether Feodor was a 
prince or a poor officer, so that he only loved her, and 
would never again forsake her? 

She replied, with some surprise, “ Princess Stratimo- 
jeff ! What does that mean? ” 

“ For three months,” said he with a proud smile, “ I 
have been Prince Stratimojeff. The empress gave me 
this title. The world calls me prince, but you — you will 
call me your Feodor? ” 

“ Oh,” said she feelingly, “ my heart called you so 
when you did not hear me.” 

“ Well, then, go wind the wreath of myrtle in your 
hair, and wait for me. In an hour I will return.” 

He hastened to the door, but on the threshold he 
turned to send a farewell greeting to her. Their eyes 
met and rested on each other, and suddenly a deep, in- 
describable feeling of grief came over him. It seemed 
to him as if he would never see her again; as if the 
threshold once crossed, Elise was lost to him forever. 
Once again he returned, and folded her passionately in 
his arms, and, completely overpowered by his painful 
presentiments, he bowed his head on her shoulder, and 
wept bitterly. He then tore himself loose. “ Fare- 
well! ” he cried, but his voice sounded hoarse and rough 
— “ farewell! in an hour I will return for you. Be pre- 
pared, do not keep me waiting in vain. Farewell! ” 


354 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE MAGISTRACY OF BERLIN. 

Gotzkowsky had conquered his proud heart; he had 
left his house to apply to those whom he had benefited 
and saved in the days of their need and distress, and who 
had then avowed him everlasting gratitude. He resolved 
now, reluctantly and with deep humiliation, rather to 
remind them of those days than to ask of them any fa- 
vors or assistance beyond the payment of their debts to 
him. 

First he went to the ober-burgomaster, President 
Kircheisen ; to the man whom he had saved from death, 
who had clung to him, and, when he had found his 
speech again, had vowed with tears that he would 
be forever grateful to him, and would bless the ar- 
rival of the hour in which he could prove it to him by 
deeds. 

This hour had now arrived, hut Herr von Kircheisen 
did not bless it; on the contrary, he cursed it. He was 
standing at the window of his ground floor when Gotz- 
kowsky passed by. Their eyes met. Gotzkowsky’s were 
clear and penetrating; Kircheisen’s were cast down, as 
he stepped hack from the window. He only had time 
to tell the servants that he was not at home for any one, 
whoever it might be, when the hell rang, and Gotzkow- 
sky inquired for Herr von Kircheisen. 

“ Hot at home, sir.” 

“ Not at home! hut I saw him just this moment 
standing at the window.” 

“It must have been a mistake, sir. The president 
has just gone to the Council-chamber.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


355 


“ Very well. I will go to the town-hall/’ said Gotz- 
kowsky, as he left the house. 

Passing by the window he looked in again. This 
time, however, Kircheisen was not standing before the 
sashes, but at the side, ensconced behind the curtain, 
he was spying Gotzkowsky through the window. As he 
saw him passing by, pale of countenance, but erect and 
unbent, he felt involuntarily a feeling of remorse, and 
his conscience warned him of his unpaid debt toward the 
only man who came to his rescue. But he would not 
listen to his conscience, and with a dark frown he threw 
back his head with contempt. 

“ He is a bankrupt — I have nothing to do with 
him! ” So saying, he retired to his study, and in obe- 
dience to a natural instinct, he opened his strong box, 
and refreshed himself with a look at the thousands which 
he had earned from Gotzkowsky as “ detective and in- 
former.” And now his conscience no longer reproached 
him; the sight of the shining money lulled it into a gen- 
tle slumber. 

In the meanwhile Gotzkowsky continued his toil- 
some and humiliating journey. He met men who for- 
merly bent humbly to the earth before him, yet who 
scarcely greeted him now. Others, again, as they passed 
him, whispered, with a malicious smile, “ Bankrupt! ” As 
he came to the corner of a street, he met the valiant editor 
of the Vossian Gazette , who was coming round from the 
other side. As they met, he jostled Gotzkowsky rather 
roughly, yet Mr. Kretschmer did not think it worth 
while to excuse himself, but pulling his hat over his face 
he walked on with a dark and scornful look. As Gotz- 
kowsky passed the houses, he could hear the windows 
rattle, and he knew that it was his former good friends, 
who were drawing back when they saw him coming, and 


356 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


who, after he had passed, opened the windows again to 
look after him, to laugh at and mock him. It was an 
intellectual running of the gantlet, and Gotzkowsky’s 
heart bled from the blows, and his feet were tired to 
death. What had he then done to burden himself with 
the cruelty and contumely of the world? Had he not 
been benevolent and kind, full of pity and humanity, 
obliging to every one? Had he not always shown him- 
self ready to serve every one, and never requested nor 
desired services in return? Therein lay his fault and 
his crime. 

He had been independent. He had never sought the 
favor of any man, hut, trusting solely to himself, had 
always relied on his own strength. And now mankind 
wished to make him feel that he had mortified them by 
his self-sufficiency — for small natures never forgive one 
who dares to he independent of others, and finds his 
source of honor in himself. And this crime Gotzkowsky 
had been guilty of. What he was, he had made himself. 
He had owed nothing to protection, nothing to hypoc- 
risy or flattery, eye-service, or cringing. Only by the 
strength and power of his own genius had he elevated 
himself above the world which he ruled. 

And now that he was down, it was hut natural that 
the world should fall upon him, tear him to pieces with 
its venomous fangs, to enjoy his torture, and joyfully to 
witness the lowering of pride and independence. Gotz- 
kowsky arrived at the town-hall and slowly ascended the 
steps. How often had he gone this same road in answer 
to the pressing cry for help which the magistrate would 
utter in his distress! How often had he mounted those 
steps to give his advice, to lend his energy, his money, 
and his credit to these gentlemen of the Council! 

This day the doors were not thrown open to him; 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


357 

the beadle did not bow down to the earth b'efore him, 
but proudly and with erect head stepped up to him and 
bade him wait in the antechamber until he had an- 
nounced him to the assembled Council. He had to wait 
long, but finally the doors opened and he was ad- 
mitted. There sat the aldermen and councillors, and 
the burgomaster, just as they had when, in their' need 
and distress, they had appealed to Gotzkowsky for ad- 
vice and assistance— just as they had when, in solemn 
session, they determined to present him with a silver 
laurel-wreath as an honorable testimonial. 

Only the chief burgomaster was absent. Herr von 
Kircheisen was at home, enjoying the sight of the money 
he had won from Gotzkowsky. This day they did not 
receive him as a counsellor or friend, but more like a de- 
linquent. Ho one rose to greet him — no one offered him 
a seat! They knew that he came to ask for something. 
Why, then, should they be polite to him, as he was only a 
petitioner like all other poor people? In the mean time 
Gotzkowsky did not seem to be aware of the alteration. 
Smiling, and with a firm, proud step he walked to a 
chair and sat down. 

After a pause the burgomaster asked him churlishly 
what his business was. He drew out a parcel of papers, 
and laying them on the table, said, “ I have brought my 
accounts.” 

A panic seized the worshipful gentlemen of the 
Council, and they sat petrified in their seats. 

“ Your worships have forgotten my claims,” said 
Gotzkowsky quickly. “ However, that I can easily under- 
stand, as the accounts are somewhat old. It is now four 
years since I have had the honor of having the Council 
of Berlin as my debtor; since I thrice performed the 
perilous journey to Konigsberg and Warsaw in order to 


358 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


negotiate the war contribution in the name of the town. 
At that time, too, I was obliged, in the service of the 
Council, to take with me many valuable presents. I 
may enumerate among them the diamond-set staff for 
General von Fermore, and the snuff-box, with the portrait 
of the empress, surrounded by brilliants, which I deliv- 
ered to the General Field-Marshal Count Butterlin,in the 
name of the magistracy and town of Berlin. But, gen- 
tlemen, you will find the accounts of all these things 
here.” 

The gentlemen of the Council did not answer him; 
they seized upon the papers hastily, and turned them 
over, and looked into them with stern and sullen eyes. 
Not a word was said, and nothing was heard hut the 
rustling of the papers, and the low muttering of one of 
the senators adding the numbers, and verifying the cal- 
culation. Gotzkowsky rose, and walked to the window. 
Raising his looks to heaven, his countenance expressed 
all the pain and bitterness to which his soul almost suc- 
cumbed. Ah! he could have torn the papers out of 
the hand of this miserable, calculating, reckoning sena- 
tor, and with pride and contempt have thrown them in 
his face. But he thought of his daughter, and the honor 
of his name. He had to wait it out, and bend his head 
in submission. 

At last the burgomaster laid the papers aside, and 
turned scowlingly toward Gotzkowsky. The latter 
stepped up to the table with a smile, making a vow to 
himself that he would remain quiet and patient. 

“ Have you read them, gentlemen? ” he asked. 

“We have read them,” answered the burgomaster 
roughly, “ hut the Council cannot admit that it owes you 
any thing.” 

“No?” cried Gotzkowsky; and then, allowing him- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


359 


self to be overcome by a feeling of bitterness — “ I be- 
lieve you. Those in authority seldom take cognizance 
of what they owe, only what is owing to them.” 

“ yes, indeed,” said the first councillor with 
solemn dignity, “we know very well that we owe you 
thanks for the great services you have rendered the 
town.” 

Gotzkowsky broke out into a loud, ironical laugh. 
“Do you remember that? I am glad that you have 
not forgotten it.” 

“ It is true,” continued the councillor, in a tone of 
conciliation, “ at the request of the magistracy you took 
charge of the affairs of the town. You travelled to St. 
Petersburg to see the empress; twice did you go to War- 
saw to see General Fermore, and twice to Saxony to 
visit the king. You see the Council knows how much it 
is indebted to you.” 

“And we are cheerfully willing to be grateful to 
you,” interrupted the burgomaster, “and to serve you 
when and in what manner we can, but these debts we 
cannot acknowledge.” 

Gotzkowsky looked at him in dismay, and a deep 
glow suffused his cheek. “You refuse to pay them?” 
he asked, faintly. 

“ It pains us deeply that we cannot recognize these 
claims. You must abate somewhat from them if we 
are to pay them,” answered the burgomaster rudely. 

“Do you dare to propose this to me?” cried Gotz- 
kowsky, his eyes flashing, his countenance burning with 
anger and indignation. “ Is this the way you insult the 
man to whom four years ago on this very spot you swore 
eternal gratitude? In those days I sacrificed to you my 
repose, the sleep of my nights; for, when the town was 
threatened with danger and alarm, there was no Council, 


360 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


no authority in existence, for you were base cowards, 
and abjectly begged for my good offices. With tears did 
you entreat me to save you. I left my house, my family, 
my business, to serve you. At the risk of my life, in 
the depth of winter, I undertook these journeys. You 
did not consider that Russian bayonets threatened me, 
that I risked health and life. You thought only of your- 
selves. I have not put down in the account the sleep- 
less nights, the trouble and anxiety, the privation and 
hardships which I suffered. I do not ask any money or 
recompense for my services. I only ask that I may he 
paid hack what I actually expended; and you have the 
assurance to refuse it? ” 

“No, we do not,” said the burgomaster, quite un- 
moved by Gotzkowsky’s noble excitement. “ We do not 
refuse payment; we only desire a reduction of the 
amounts.” 

“You wish to cheapen and bargain with me,” said 
Gotzkowsky with a hoarse laugh. “ You take me for a 
chapman, who measures out his life and services by the 
yard; and you wish to pay me for mine by the same 
measure. Go, most sapient gentlemen; I carry on a 
wholesale trade, and do not cut off yards. That I leave 
to shopkeepers, to souls like yours.” 

The burgomaster rose up proud and threateningly 
from his seat. “ Do you dare to insult the Council? ” 

“ No, the Council of Berlin insult themselves by their 
own deeds. They dare to chaffer with me! ” 

“ And they have a right to do so,” cried the burgo- 
master, quite beside himself with rage. “Who asked 
you to play the great lord in our name, and distribute 
royal presents — diamonds and gold snuff-boxes? You 
could have done it much more cheaply. The Russian is 
not so high-priced. But it was your pleasure to he 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


361 


magnificent at our expense, and to strut about as a 
bountiful gentleman.” 

“ Silence! ” cried Gotzkowsky, in such a command- 
ing tone that the burgomaster was struck dumb, and 
sank back in his chair. Gotzkowsky said no more. He 
took the accounts from the table, and, casting a look of 
anger and contempt on the worthy gentlemen, tore the 
papers in pieces, and threw the scraps at their feet. “ I 
am paid!” he said, proudly, and turned to leave the 
room. 

One of the town councillors hastened after him, and 
held him back. “ You are too hasty: we may yet agree.” 

“No!” said Gotzkowsky, striving to free himself. 
“ I do not chaffer and bargain for my right.” 

The other held him tight. “But the Council are 
not averse to paying you, if you — ” 

“ If I will only traffic with you, is it not so? ” inter- 
rupted Gotzkowsky. “Let me go; we have done with 
each other.” 

“ You will regret having repulsed the Council,” said 
the burgomaster, threateningly. 

“ I never regret an action when my honor is satis- 
fied,” said Gotzkowsky, with proud contempt; and then, 
without honoring the worthy gentlemen with another 
look, he left the hall, and returned into the street. 


362 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


CHAPTEE XI. 

THE JEWS OE THE MINT. 

Herr Itzig was a very pious and devout Jew. He 
kept the Sabbath strictly after the custom of his an- 
cestors. He was charitable to the poor; and no Jew 
beggar ever left his door without a gift. 

He sat in his room, performing his morning devo- 
tions, and so deeply was he immersed therein, that he did 
not hear a repeated knocking at the door until a low, 
gentle voice whispered, “ Good-morning, Herr Itzig! ” 

Itzig first finished his prayer; for all the world he 
would not have broken off before the end of it: “ Be 
gracious and merciful to us, Jehovah, and incline us to 
be compassionate and helpful to all who approach us 
with supplication, even as we desire that thou shouldst be 
to us.” And now the pious Jew closed his prayer-book, 
and turned slowly around. 

That pale, bent man, who greeted him with a sorrow- 
ful smile — could it possibly be — could it be John Gotz- 
kowsky, the celebrated banker, the honored and bright 
hero of the Exchange, the money-king before whom all 
Europe bowed down? 

An expression of malicious joy stole over Itzig’s face; 
but he suppressed it immediately, for the last words of 
his prayer still floated around his lips, and somewhat 
purified them. “ Ah! ” said he, in a friendly tone, as 
he stepped toward Gotzkowsky, stretching out both 
his hands to him, “ the great and powerful J ohn Gotz- 
kowsky does me the honor to visit me. What joy for 
my humble house! ” 

Gotzkowsky did not allow himself to be misled by 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


363 


this seeming politeness. He observed him with sharp 
and penetrating eyes, and then proudly said: “ Listen, 
Itzig; let us be candid with each other. You know 
the reports which are current about me in the city and 
on the Bourse.” 

“ I know them, but do not believe them,” cried Itzig, 
with an altered, earnest mien. “ Yes, I know these re- 
ports, and I know too what they are worth. They are 
a speculation of Ephraim, that your notes may he de- 
preciated, that he may buy them in at a low rate. I know 
that Gotzkowsky is a rich man; and a rich man has 
judgment, and whoever has judgment is prudent — does 
not venture much, nor stand security for other people.” 

“I have perhaps less of this judgment than you 
think,” said Gotzkowsky. “ It may be that I have stood 
security.” 

“ Then you will certainly know how to pay? ” said 
Itzig, with a forced laugh. 

“ But how if I cannot pay? ” said Gotzkowsky, sadly. 

Itzig stepped back, and gazed at him horrified. 

“If I cannot pay,” continued Gotzkowsky, impres- 
sively; “ if I am unable to pay half a million for Leipsic, 
another half million for the Russian claims, after having 
lost the same amount yesterday by the new treasury ordi- 
nance — what would you say to that, Itzig? ” 

Itzig listened to him with increasing terror, and 
gradually his features assumed an expression of hatred 
and savage rage. When Gotzkowsky had finished, he 
raised his clasped hands to heaven, as if imploring the 
wrath of God on the head of the sinner. “My God! sir, 
are you, then, going to fail ? ” 

Gotzkowsky seized his hand, and looked into his quiv- 
ering face with an expression of intense anxiety. “ Lis- 
ten to me, Itzig. I may yet he saved; every thing de- 


364 : 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


pends upon my obtaining a delay, that my credit may not 
be shaken. You are rich — ■” 

“No, I am poor,” interrupted Itzig, vehemently. 

“ I am perfectly poor; I have nothing but what I earn. 

“ But you can earn a great deal,” said Gotzkowsky, 
with a faint smile. “ I wish to effect a loan from you. 
Take my word of honor as security.” 

“ Your word of honor! ” cried Itzig, thrusting back 
his hand. “What can I do with your word of honor? 

I cannot advance any money on it.” 

“Consider! the honor of my name is concerned — 
and this, till now, I have kept unsullied before God and 
man! ” cried Gotzkowsky, imploringly. 

“ And if my own honor was concerned,” exclaimed 
Itzig, “ I would rather part with it than my money. 
Money makes me a man. I am a Jew. I have nothing 
but money — it is my life, my honor! I cannot part with 
any of it.” 

But Gotzkowsky did not allow himself to be re- 
pulsed. It seemed to him that his future, his honor, his 
whole life hung upon this moment. He felt like a 
gambler who has staked his last hope upon one throw of 
the dice. If this fails, all hope is gone; no future, no 
life is left, nothing but the grave awaits him. With 
impetuous violence he seized the hand of the rich Itzig. 
“ Oh! ” said he, “ remember the time when you swore 
eternal gratitude to me.” 

“ I never would have sworn it,” cried Itzig — “ no, by 
the Eternal, I never would have done it, if I had thought 
you would ever have needed it! ” 

“ The honor of my name is at stake! ” cried Gotz- 
kowsky, in a tone of heart-rending agony. “Do you 
not understand that this is to me my life? Remember 
your vow! Let your heart for once feel sympathy — act 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


365 


as a man toward his fellow-man. Advance me money 
upon my word of honor. No, not on that alone— on 
my house, on all that belongs to me. Lend me the sum 
I need. Oh! I will repay it in a princely manner. Help 
me over only these shoals, and my gratitude to you will 
be without bounds. You have a heart — take pity on 
me! ” 

Itzig looked with a malicious smile into his pale, 
agitated face. u So the rich, the great Christian banker, 
in the hour of his trouble, thinks that the poor derided 
Jew has a heart; I admit that I have a heart — but what 
has that to do with money? When business begins, 
there the heart stops. No, I have no heart to lend you 
money! ” 

Gotzkowsky did not answer immediately. He stood 
for an instant motionless, as if paralyzed in his inmost 
being. His soul was crushed, and he scarcely felt his 
grief. He only felt and knew that he was a lost man, 
and that the proud edifice of his fortune was crumbling 
under him, and would bury him in its ruins. He folded 
his hands and raised his disconsolate looks on high; he 
murmured: You see my suffering, 0 God! I have done 
my utmost! I have humbled myself to begging — to 
pitiful complaining. My God! my God! will no help- 
ing hand stretch itself once more to me out of the 
cloud?” 

“ You should have prayed before to God,” said Itzig, 
with cruel mockery. “ You should have begged Him for 
prudence and foresight.” 

Gotzkowsky did not heed him. He fought and 
struggled with his immense suffering, and, being a noble 
and a brave man, he at length conquered it. For a mo- 
ment he had been cowed and downcast, but now he re- 
covered all the power of his energetic nature. He raised 
24 


366 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


again his bowed head, and his look was once more de- 
termined and defiant. “ Well, then, I have tried every 
thing; now I accept my fate. Listen, then, Herr Itzig, 
I am going to suspend payment; my house must fail! ” 

Itzig shuddered with a sudden terror. “ My God! ” 
cried he, “ only yesterday I bought a draft of yours. 
You will not pay it? ” 

“ I will not do it, because I cannot; and I would not 
do it, if I could. I have humbled myself before you in 
the dust, and you have stretched out no hand to raise me. 
Farewell, and may that now happen which you would 
not prevent when you could! You punish yourself. 
Farewell! ” 

Itzig held him convulsively hack, and cried, in a 
voice drowned by rage, “ You will pay my draft? ” 

« I will not,” said Gotzkowsky. “ You have judged; 
take now your reward.” He threw Itzig’s hands from 
him, and hastened from the spot. 

Behind him sounded the wailing and raging of Itzig, 
who implored Heaven and hell to punish the criminal 
who had cheated him of his money. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE LEIPSIC MERCHANT. 

Exhausted and weary, Gotzkowsky returned to his 
house, and retired to his room, to give himself up to the 
sad and terrible thoughts which tortured him. He 
could not conceal from himself that the sword above 
his head was only suspended by two thin threads. If 
De Xeufville did not return from Amsterdam, and if the 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


367 


courier did not bring a relief from Leipsic, then was he 
lost without redemption, and the deadly sword must fall. 
For the first time did he think of death; for the first time 
did the thought of it flash like lightning through his 
brain, and make him almost cheerful and happy. 

He could die; it was not necessary that he should bear 
the pain and humiliation of life. He could take refuge 
in the quiet, silent grave under the turf, which would 
soon be decked with flowers over his agonized breast. 
He had worked much; his feet were sore, and his heart 
weary, from his walk through life. Why should he not 
lay himself down in the grave to rest, to dream, or to 
sink in the arms of eternal, dreamless sleep? 

But this enticing thought he cast forcibly from him. 
He had not yet lost all hope. His anticipations rose as 
the door opened, and the servant handed him a large 
sealed letter, which the courier from Leipsic had just 
brought. With hasty hand he seized the letter, and 
motioned to Peter to retire. But as soon as he was alone, 
and was about to break the seal, he drew back and hesi- 
tated. This letter might, indeed, contain his salvation; 
but it might also contain his death-sentence. He 
weighed it in his hand thoughtfully, and muttered to 
himself: “ It is as light as a feather, and yet its con- 
tents may be heavy enough to hurl me down the abyss. 
But this is foolish/ 5 he exclaimed aloud, drawing himself 
up proudly. “ At least I will know my fate, and see 
clearly into the future.” 

With a firm hand he broke the seal. But as he read, 
horror and dismay were depicted in his countenance, 
and his whole frame shook. Violently he flung the paper 
on the ground. “ This, then, this is my reward — re- 
proaches, accusations, instead of thanks; scorn and 
malice, instead of compassion. Reproaches, because I 


3GS 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


assisted them; accusations, that I had offered to help 
them; only because without me it would have been im- 
possible for the King of Prussia Jto raise so much money. 
Without my mediation, they say, they would not have 
paid, but at the utmost would have had to endure a 
somewhat longer imprisonment, which would have been 
more tolerable than the loss of such immense sums.” 

He paced impatiently up and down, and as he came 
to the letter he spurned it with his foot, like a poisonous 
adder, too loathsome to touch. “ I have deserved this 
punishment,” cried he, laughing aloud from inward pain. 

“Who bade me love mankind? who bade me help 
them, instead of like a highwayman falling upon and 
plundering them, when they were defenceless? Pool 
that I was to give to life any other interpretation, any 
other end! ” He threw himself in a chair, and was soon 
buried in thought. Once more he reviewed his whole 
past, and as he made up the accounts of his life, he 
had to confess that the total of his hours of happiness 
was but small, while that of his years of misery and toil 
was heavy enough to bear him down. But there was still 
one hope, and as long as he could expect De Neufville’s 
arrival all was not lost, and he must still wait in patience, 
still struggle with the worm that gnawed at his heart. 
With such painful thoughts as these was he busied when 
the door opened, and Elise entered with a glowing coun- 
tenance. 

She was so happy, that in her selfishness she did not 
perceived his troubled and careworn looks. “ Oh ” said 
she, kissing his hand, “ I am so happy at last to find you 
alone at home. Several times have I sought you here.” 

“ With letters for me? ” asked he, hurriedly, for he 
had not observed Elise’s excited countenance. Both 
were so occupied with their own thoughts and feelings. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 3(59 

that they took note of nothing else. “ Have not letters 
arrived ? ” asked he once more. 

“ No letters have arrived/’ said she, smiling joyously, 
“ hut happiness has come.” 

“ De Neufville is here, then! ” cried Gotzkowsky, 
anxiously, hurrying toward the door. 

“What has De Neufville to do with it?” asked 
Elise, with surprise holding him back. 

Gotzkowsky stared for a moment, terrified at her 
bright face, and then a sad smile stole across his own. 
“Poor fool that I am!” he muttered; “I complain of 
the egotism of men, while I am selfish enough to think 
only of myself.” He drew Elise toward him, and look- 
ing at her with infinite tenderness, said, “ Well, my 
child, speak: what happiness has arrived?” 

“ Look at me,” said she, playfully; “ can you read 
nothing in my looks? ” 

Sadly he looked down deep into her large bright 
eyes. “ Oh, your eyes shine as bright as two stars of 
hope, the last that are left me! ” 

Elise threw both her arms around his neck, and 
kissed him, then drew him with gentle force toward the 
ottoman, and, as she forced him down on the cushions, 
she took her own seat, smiling, on the stool at his feet. 
“ How often, my father, have you sat here and cared for 
me! Ah! I know well how much sorrow I have caused 
you in these last four sad years, I could not command my 
heart to forget. You knew this, and yet you have been 
considerate and gentle as a mother, and kind as the best 
of fathers. You were never angry with me on account 
of my grief; you knew of it, and yet you allowed me to 
weep.” She took his hand in hers, and for a moment 
covered her hot, burning face with it, then looked cheer- 
fully up in his face. “ See,” she said, “ I do not shed 


370 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


any more tears, or, if I do, they are tears of joy. My 
father, I come to ask your blessing. Feodor is again 
here; he has come to ask me of you for his wife. Oh, 
forgive him, and grant your blessing to a love which till 
now has been the anguish of my life, but which hereafter 

will be its chief happiness! ” 

Blushing and with maiden modesty she nestled in her 
father’s breast. Gotzkowsky felt himself paralyzed with 
terror. He pressed his child’s head warmly to his breast, 
saying to himself, “ And this, too, my God! you try me 
sorely. This is the greatest sacrifice you have demanded 
of me yet; but my pride is gone. This offering, too, will 
I make.” 

“ Well, my father, you do not answer? ” asked Elise, 
still leaning on his breast. “ All is right, is it not? 
and you will give us your fatherly blessing, and forgive 
Feodor the errors of former years, and receive him as a 
son? ” 

Gotzkowsky, with his eyes still raised to heaven, 
moved his lips in silent prayer. At last, after a long, 
painful pause, he said solemnly: “ Well, let it he so; I 
give my consent.” 

Elise uttered a cry of joy, and, amidst tears of unal- 
loyed delight, kissed him, as smiling, and often inter- 
rupted by her own deep emotion, she narrated her meet- 
ing with Feodor, Lodoiska’s death, and the letter she had 
written to her. “ Oh, how delightful this hour would 
he,” continued she, after finishing her narrative, if I 
could only remain with you! Love bids me go, and yet 
it keeps me here! I have promised Feodor to go with 
him, hut I did it in my haste, seeing only him and listen- 
ing only to his prayers. Now I see you, my father, and 
it seems to me as if I could not leave you to-day.” 

“ To-day! ” cried Gotzkowsky, and a ray of joy shone 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 371 

from his face. He arose, and, with folded arms, paced 
the room. His soul was full of gratitude to God, to 
whom he had prayed in his despair. Was this not a 
sign that God was with him, even if men forsook him? 
— that God had pity on him, even if all others were piti- 
less. This day his child wished to leave him, to enter 
on a brilliant destiny. He had, therefore, no longer 
any need to be anxious about her fate; and, as she was 
gding to leave at once, he would he spared the torture 
of having her as a witness to his disgrace and degrada- 
tion. He took her to his breast, and kissed her with 
heartfelt fervor. “ Farewell, my child, my only happi- 
ness; you wish to leave me. I will be alone, but I will 
have time to think of and pray for you.” He then cast 
her from him almost roughly, for he felt as if his grief 
would unman him. “ Go,” he cried, “ your bridegroom 
is waiting for you; go, then, and order your bridal orna- 
ments.” 

Elise smiled. “ Yes, I will adorn myself; hut you, 
father, will place the wreath of myrtle on my head, will 
you not? That is the sacred and last office of love 
with which a mother sends a daughter from her 
arms. I have no mother. You are both father and 
mother to me. Will you not crown me with the myrtle- 
wreath? ” 

“ Yes,” said he, with a sigh, “ I will place the myrtle 
on your brow, and God grant it may not turn to a 
crown of thorns! Go now, my child, adorn thyself, and 
leave me alone to pray for you.” 

He greeted her smilingly, and accompanied her to 
the door. But when she had left the room he felt in- 
describably lonesome, and, pressing his hands against 
his breast to suppress the cry which choked him, he mut- 
tered in a low tone, "I have lost her — she is mine no 


372 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


longer. Every thing forsakes me. The unfortunate is 
ever alone! ” 

Once more a knocking, repeated at his door, awak- 
ened him from his reverie. Peter his servant entered, 
and announced Herr Ephraim. 

A ray of joyful astonishment flashed across him, and, 
as he stepped hastily toward the rich Jew of the mint, 
he said to himself: “Is it possible that this man comes 
to have pity on me in my distress? Will he be more 
magnanimous than Itzig? Will he assist me?” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

EPHRAIM THE TEMPTER. 

“You seek me?” asked Gotzkowsky, as Ephraim 
entered and saluted him in silence. 

Gotzkowsky’s sharp glance had detected in his in- 
solent bearing and contracted features that it was not 
pity or sympathy which had brought the Jew to him, 
but only a desire to gloat over the sufferings of his vic- 
tim. “ He shall not enjoy his triumph. He shall find 
me collected and determined, and shall not suspect my 
grief. Thus thinking, he forced his features into a 
cheerful expression, and handing a chair to the still si- 
lent Ephraim, said laughingly: “Indeed, I must be in 
a dangerous plight, if the birds of prey are already set- 
tling around me. Ho you already scent my death, 
Herr Ephraim? By Heaven! that would be a dainty 
morsel for you! ” 

“ You are angry with me,” said Ephraim, shaking his 
head slowly; “ but you shall know how much injustice 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 373 

you do me. I bring you an important and fearful piece 
of news.” 

“ It must be fearful, indeed,” interrupted Gotzkow- 
sky, “ as you do yourself the pleasure of bringing it to me 
in person.” 

Ephraim shrugged his shoulders and abruptly re- 
plied, “ De Neufville has failed! ” 

A cry of horror escaped Gotzkowsky’s lips; he stag- 
gered, and was obliged to support himself by a chair to 
keep himself from falling. This was the last, decisive 
blow, and it had wounded him mortally. “ De Neuf- 
ville has failed! ” he muttered low to himself. 

“ Yes, he is bankrupt! ” said Ephraim with scarcely 
suppressed malice. “ The proud Christian merchant, 
whose greatest pleasure it was to look down with con- 
tempt upon the Jew Ephraim, he is bankrupt. The 
Jew stands firm, but the Christian merchant is broken.” 
And as he spoke, he broke into a scornful laugh, which 
brought back to Gotzkowsky his composure and self- 
possession. 

“You triumph!” he said, “and on your brow is 
marked your rejoicing over our fall. Yes! you have 
conquered, for De Neuf ville’s failure is your deed. It 
was you who persecuted him so long, and by cunning 
suspicions and calumny undermined his credit until it 
was destroyed, and the whole edifice of his honorable 
industry fell together.” 

“ It is my work,” cried Ephraim exultingly, “ for he 
stood in my way, and I have pushed him out of it — what 
more? Life is but a combat; whoever is the strongest — 
that is, has the most money — is conqueror.” 

“ De Neufville has fallen — that is a hard blow,” mut- 
tered Gotzkowsky; and as his wandering eye met Ephra- 
im’s, he added with an expression of complete pros- 


374 : 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


tration: “Enjoy my suffering; you have succeeded— 

1 am hurt unto death! ” 

“ Listen > to me, Gotzkowsky,” said Ephraim, ap- 
proaching nearer to him; “ I mean well by you.” 

u Oh, yes! ” said Gotzkowsky, bitterly; after you 
have hastened my downfall, you condescend to love me. 
Yes, indeed! I believe in your friendship; for none but 
a friend would have had the heart to bring such a Job s 
message.” 

Ephraim shook his head. “ Listen to me, said he, 

“ I will he quite candid with you. Formerly I hated 
you, it is true, for you were more powerful and richer 
than I was; you were renowned for being honest and 
punctual, and that hurt me. If a large bargain was to 
he made, they were not satisfied unless Gotzkowsky was 
concerned in it, and if your name stood at the bottom 
of a contract, every one was pleased. Your name was 
as good as gold, and that vexed me.” 

« And for that reason you wished to overthrow me, 
and worked unceasingly for my downfall; because you 
knew that I expected this remittance of light money 
from Hamburg! ” 

a I procured the decision that the light money should 
he declared uncurrent, that is true. I succeeded. 
From this hour I am more powerful and richer than 
you. You shall see that I only hated your house, not 
yourself; I have come to help you. You must indeed 
fail; that I am aware of, and that if you were to put 
forth all your power, you could not stand this blow. 
You must and will fail, and that this very day.” 

Gotzkowsky muttered some unintelligible words, and 
covered his face with his hands. “ Yes,” he cried, pite- 
ously, “ I and all my hopes have suffered shipwreck.” 

Ephraim laid his hand suddenly upon his shoulder. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


375 


“ Seek, then, to save some plank from the wreck, on 
which you may swim. You can no longer save your 
creditors; save yourself.” 

Gotzkowsky removed his hands slowly from his face, 
and looked at him with astonishment and wonder. 

Ephraim met his look with a smiling and mysterious 
expression, and bending down to Gotzkowsky’s ear, whis- 
pered: “ I think you will not he such a fool as to give up 
all you have to your creditors, and to go out of your 
house a poor man. Intrust me with your important 
papers, and all that you possess of money and valuables, 
and I will preserve them for you. You do not answer. 
Come, he reasonable; do not allow the world the pleasure 
of pitying you; it does not deserve it. Believe me, 
mankind is had; and he is a fool who strives to be better 
than his fellows.” He stopped, and directed an inquir- 
ing look toward Gotzkowsky. 

The latter regarded him proudly and with contempt. 
“ This, then, is your friendship for me? You wish to 
make me a cheat! ” 

“ Every man cheats his neighbor,” cried Ephraim, 
shrugging his shoulders; “why should you alone he 
honest? ” 

“ Because I do not wish to he ashamed of myself. 
It is the fault of others that I fall to-day. It shall not be 
said that Gotzkowsky is guilty of any crime of his own.” 

“ It will he said, nevertheless,” interrupted Ephraim; 
“ for whoever is unfortunate, is in the wrong, in the eyes 
of men. And if he can help himself at the expense of 
others, and does not do it, do you think men will admire 
him for it? No! believe me, they will only laugh at 
him. I have often been sorry for you, Gotzkowsky; for, 
with all your good sense, your whole life through has 
been a miscalculation — ” 


376 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


“ Or rather say,” said Gotzkowsky, sadly, “ I have 
not calculated enough, and from all the experiences of 
my life I have not drawn the sum total.” 

“ You miscalculated,” said Ephraim, “ for you cal- 
culated on gratitude. That is a bad investment which 
does not bear interest. Mankind cannot be grateful, 
and when any one tries to be so he must sink, for others 
are not so. Whoever wishes to succeed in this world, 
must think only of himself, and keep his own interest in 
sight.” 

“ You wise men of the world are right! ” cried Gotz- 
kowsky, with a hoarse laugh. 

Unhindered by Gotzkowsky’s vehement and scornful 
hearing, Ephraim continued: “ If I had thought as you 
did, I would not have been able to operate against you, 
nor could I have brought the mint ordinance to bear on 
you. Then, to be sure, I would have been grateful, but 
it would not have been business-like. Therefore I 
thought first of my own welfare, and after that I came 
here to serve you, and show you my gratitude.” 

“ I do not desire any gratitude. Let me go my way 
- — you go yours.” 

Ephraim looked at him almost pityingly. “ Be rea- 
sonable, Gotzkowsky; take good advice. The world does 
not thank you for being honorable. Mankind has not 
deserved the pleasure of laughing at you. And they will 
laugh! ” 

“ Leave me, I tell you!” cried Gotzkowsky; “you 
shall not deprive me of my last possession, my con- 
science! ” 

“ Conscience! ” sneered Ephraim. “ You will starve 
on that capital.” 

Gotzkowsky sighed deeply and dropped his head on 
his breast. At this moment there were heard from with- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 377 

out loud hurrahs and jubilant sounds, mingled with the 
tones of martial music. 

King Frederick II. was returning this day to Berlin, 
after a long absence, and the happy and delighted Ber- 
liners had prepared for him a pompous and brilliant 
entry. They had built triumphal arches, and the guilds 
had gone forth to accompany him into the city, now 
adorned for festivity. The procession had to pass by 
Gotzkowsky’s house, and already were heard the sounds 
of the approaching music, while the shouts and cries of 
the people became louder and shriller. 

Ephraim stepped to the window, opened it, and point- 
ing down into the street, he said, with a mocking laugh: 
“ Just look, Gotzkowsky! There is the true test of 
your beautiful, high-toned principles. How often has 
Berlin not called you her benefactor, and yet she is 
overjoyed on the very day you are going to ruin! The 
whole town of Berlin knows that Gotzkowsky fails to- 
day, and yet they pass by your house with merry music, 
and no one thinks of you.” 

“ He is right,” murmured Gotzkowsky, as the huzzas 
sounded under his window. “He is right! I was a 
fool to love mankind.” 

Ephraim pointed down into the street again. “ See,” 
said he, “ there comes Count Salm, whom you saved from 
death when the Russians were here. He does not look 
up here. Ah, there goes the banker, Splittyerber, whose 
factories in Neustadt Eberswald you saved at the same 
time. He, too, does not look up. Oh! yes, he does, and 
laughs. Look there! There goes the king with his 
staff. You have caused his majesty much pleasure. You 
accomplished his favorite wish — you founded the porce- 
lain factory. You travelled at your own expense into 
Italy, and bought pictures for him. You preserved his 


378 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


capital from pillage by the Austrians and Russians. The 
Dutch ambassador, who at that time interfered in favor 
of Berlin with the Austrians, him has the king in his 
gratitude created a count. What has he done for you? 
What Yerelse did was but a trifle in comparison with 
your services, yet he, forsooth, is made a count. What 
has the king done for you? See, the king and his staff 
has passed by, and not one of them has looked up here. 
Yesterday they would have done so, for yesterday you 
were rich; but to-day they have forgotten you already: 
for to-day you are poor, and the memory of the people 
is very short for the poor. Ah! look down again, Gotz- 
kowsky — so many gentlemen, so many high-born people 
are passing! Not one looks up! ” 

Against his will Gotzkowsky had been drawn to the 
window, and, enticed by Ephraim’s words, he had looked 
down anxiously and mournfully at the brilliant proces- 
sion which was passing by. How much would he not 
have given if only one of the many who had formerly 
called themselves his friends had looked up at him, had 
greeted him cordially? But Ephraim was right. No 
one did so. No one thought of him who, with a broken 
heart, was leaning beside the window, asking of mankind 
no longer assistance or help, but a little love and sym- 
pathy. But, as he looked down into the street again, his 
countenance suddenly brightened up. He laid his hand 
hastily on Ephraim’s shoulder, and pointed to the pro- 
cession. 

“ You are right,” said he; “ the respectable people 
do not look up here, but here comes the end of the pro- 
cession, the common people, the poor and lowly, the 
workmen. Look at them! See how they are gazing at 
me. Ah, they see me, they greet me, they wave their 
hats! There, one of them is putting his hand to his 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


379 


face. He is a day-laborer who formerly worked in my 
factory. This man is weeping, and because he knows 
that I have been unfortunate. See! here come others — 
poor people in ragged clothes — women with nurslings in 
their arms — tottering old men — they all bend dewy eyes 
on me. Do you see? they smile at me. Even the chil- 
dren stretch up their arms. Ah, they love me, although 
I am no longer rich.” 

And turning with a beaming face and eyes moistened 
with tears toward Ephraim, he exclaimed: “ You tell me 
that I have miscalculated. Ho! you are mistaken. I 
calculated on the kernel of humanity, not on the de- 
generate shell. And this noble kernel of humanity re- 
sides in the people, the workmen, and the poor. I trusted 
in these, and they have not betrayed my confidence.” 

Ephraim shrugged his shoulders. “ The people are 
weathercocks; they will stone to-morrow the same men 
whom they bless to-day. Only wait until public opinion 
has condemned you, and the people, too, will forsake you. 
Protect yourself, then, against men. When you were 
rich, every one partook of your liberality; now that you 
are poor, no one will be willing to share your misfortune. 
Therefore save yourself, I tell you. Collect whatever 
papers and valuables you may have. Give them to me. 
By the God of my fathers I will preserve them faithfully 
and honestly for you! ” 

Gotzkowsky repulsed him with scorn, and indignant 
anger flashed from his countenance. “ Back from me, 
tempter!” cried he, proudly. "It is true you possess 
the wisdom of the world, but one thing is wanting in 
your wisdom — the spirit of honor. I know that this 
does not trouble you much, but to me it is every thing. 
You are right: I will be a beggar, and men will point at 
me with their finger, and laugh me to scorn. But I will 


380 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


pass them by proudly, nor will I bend my head before 
them, for my dignity and honor as a man are uncon- 
nected with gold or property. These are my own, and 
when I die, on my tomb will he written — ‘ He died in 
poverty, hut he was an honorable man/ 99 

“ Fool that you are! ” exclaimed Ephraim, laughing 
in contempt. “You are speculating on your epitaph, 
while the fortune of your life slips away from you. 
Take my advice: there is yet time to secure your fu- 
ture.” 

“ Never, if it is to he accomplished by frauds ! 99 

“ Think of your daughter.” 

A painful quivering flitted across Gotzkowsky’s face. 
“Who gives you a right to remind me of her?” asked 
he angrily. “ Do not soil her name by pronouncing it. 

I have nothing in common with you.” 

“Yes, you have, though,” said Ephraim with a 
wicked smile. “ You have done me a good deed, and I 
am thankful. That is something in common.” 

Gotzkowsky did not answer him. He crossed the 
room hastily, and stepped to his writing-table, out of a 
secret drawer of which he drew a dark-red case. He 
opened it and snatched out the diamond ring that was 
contained in it. 

“ I do not wish your gratitude,” said he, turning to 
Ephraim, anger flashing from his countenance — “ and if 
you could offer me all the treasures of the world, I would 
throw them to the earth, as I do this ring! ” And he 
cast down the costly jewel at Ephraim’s feet. 

The latter raised it coolly from the ground and ex- 
amined it carefully. He then broke out into a loud, 
scornful laugh. “ This is the ring which the J ews pre- 
sented to you when you procured our exemption from 
the war-tax. You give it to me? ” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


381 


“ I give it to you, and with it a curse on the tempter 
of my honor! ” 

“ You repulse me, then? You will have none of my 
gratitude ? 99 

“ Yes; if your hand could save me from the abyss, I 
would reject it! ” 

“ Let it be so, then,” said Ephraim; and his face as- 
sumed an expression of hatred and malice — for now it 
could be perceived that the rich Ephraim was again over- 
come by Gotzkowsky, although the latter was a poor and 
shattered man. His sympathy and his help had only 
met with a proud refusal from him whom he had not 
succeeded in humbling and dragging down to the dust. 

“ Let it be so, then ! 99 he repeated, gnashing his teeth. 
“ You will not have it otherwise. I take the ring,” and 
looking at Gotzkowsky maliciously, he continued: 
“ With this ring I will buy you a place in the church- 
yard, that the dishonored bankrupt may, at least, find 
an honorable grave, and not be shovelled in like De 
NTeufville the suicide! ” 

“What do you say — De Neufville is dead?” cried 
Gotzkowsky, hurrying after him as he neared the door, 
and seizing him violently by the arm. “ Say it once 
more — De Neufville is dead?” 

Ephraim enjoyed for a moment, in silence, Gotz- 
kowsky’s terrible grief. He then freed himself from his 
grasp and opened the door. But turning round once 
more, and looking in Gotzkowsky’s face with a devilish 
grin, he slowly added, “ De Neufville killed himself be- 
cause he could not survive disgrace.” And then, with 
a loud laugh, he slammed the door behind him. 

Gotzkowsky stared after him, and his soul was full 
of inexpressible grief. He had lost in De Neufville not 
only a friend whom he loved, and on whose fidelity he 
25 


382 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


could count, but his own future and his last hope were 
buried in his grave. But his own tormenting thoughts 
left him no leisure to mourn over his deceased friend. 
It was the kind of death that De Neufville had chosen 
which occupied his mind. 

“ He came to his death by his own hand ; he did not 
wish to survive his disgrace. He has done right — for 
when disgrace begins, life ends — and shall I live / 7 asked 
he aloud, as almost angrily he threw his head back, “ an 
existence without honor, an existence of ignominy and 
misery? I repeat it, De Neufville has done right. Well, 
then, I dare not do wrong; my friend has shown me the 
way. Shall I follow him? Let me consider it . 77 

He cast a wild, searching look around the room, as if 
he feared some eye might be looking at him, and read 
desperate thoughts in the quivering of his face. “ Yes! 
I will consider it , 77 whispered he, uneasily. “ But not 
here — there in my cabinet, where every thing is so silent 
and solitary, no one will disturb me. I will think of it, 
I say . 77 And with a dismal smile he hurried into his 
study, and closed the door behind him. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

ELISE. 

The bridal costume was completed, and with a bright 
face, smiling and weeping for sheer happiness, Elise stood 
looking at herself in a large Venetian mirror. Not from 
vanity, nor to enjoy the contemplation of her beauty, but 
to convince herself that all this was not a dream, only 
truth, delightful truth. The maiden, with blushing 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


383 


cheeks, stood and looked in the glass, in her white dress, 
till she smiled back again; so like a bride, that she shouted 
aloud for joy, kissed her hand to herself, in the fulness 
of her mirth, as she greeted and smiled again to her 
image in the mirror. “ I salute you, happy bride! ” said 
she, in the exuberance of her joy. “ I see in your eyes 
that you are happy, and so may God bless you! Go 
forth into the world and teach it by your example, that 
for a woman there is no happiness hut love, no bliss but 
that of resting in the arms of her lover. But am I not 
too simply clad?” cried she, interrupting herself sud- 
denly, and examining herself critically in the glassy 
“ Yes, indeed, that simple, silly child is not worthy of 
such a handsome and splendid cavalier: a white silk dress 
and nothing else! How thoughtless and foolish has hap- 
piness made me! My Heaven! I forgot that he comes 
from the land of diamonds, and that he is a prince. Oh! 

I will adorn myself for my prince.” And she took from 
her desk the costly set of diamonds, the legacy of her 
mother, and fastened the glittering brilliants in her ears, 
on her arms, and the necklace set with diamonds and 
emeralds around her snow-white neck. 

“ Now that looks splendid,” said she, as she surveyed 
herself again. “ Now perhaps I may please him. But 
the last ornament is still wanting — my myrtle-wreath — 
hut that my father shall put on.” Looking at the 
wreath, she continued, in a more serious and, sad tone: 

“ Crown of love and of death! it is woven in the maiden’s 
hair when she dies as a maiden, whether it be to arise 
again as a wife or as a purified spirit.” And raising her 
tearful eyes to heaven, she exclaimed: “I thank Thee, 

0 God, for granting me all this happiness. My whole 
life, my whole future, shall evince but gratitude toward 
Thee, who art the God of love.” 


384 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Soon, however, it became too close and solitary in 
this silent chamber. She wished to go to her father, 
to throw herself on his breast, to pour out to him all her 
happiness, her affection, her joy, in words of thankful- 
ness, of tender child-like love. How the white satin 
dress rustled and shone! how the diamonds sparkled and 
glittered, as, meteor-like, they flitted down the dark 
corridor! With a bright, happy smile, holding the 
wreath in her hand, she stepped into her father’s room. 
But the apartment was empty. She crossed it in haste 
to seek him in his study. The doors were locked and no 
one answered her loud calls. She supposed he had gone 
out, and would doubtless soon return. She sat down 
to await him, and soon sank into deep thought and 
reverie. What sweet and precious dreams played around 
her, and greeted her with happy bodings of the future! 

The door opened, and she started up to meet her 
father. But it was not her father — it was Bertram. 
And how altered — how pale and troubled he looked! 
He hardly noticed her, and his eye gleamed on her with- 
out seeing her. What was it that had so changed him? 
Perhaps he already knew that she was to be married to- 
day, and that her lover, so long mourned, had returned 
to her. She asked confusedly and anxiously for her 
father. 

“ My God! is he not here, then? ” asked Bertram in 
reply. “ I must speak to him, for I have things of the 
greatest importance to tell him.” 

Elise looked at him with inquiring astonishment. 
She had never seen him so intensely excited in his whole 
being, and unwillingly she asked the cause of his trouble 
and anxiety. 

Bertram denied feeling any anxiety, and yet his eye 
wandered around searchingly and uneasily, and his whole 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


385 


frame was restless and anxious. This only made Elise 
the more eager to find out the cause of his trouble. She 
became more pressing, and Bertram again assured her 
that nothing had happened. 

Elise shook her head distrustfully. “ And yet I do 
not deceive myself! Misfortune stands written on your 
brow.” Then, turning pale with terror, she asked, “ Do 
you bring my father bad news? ” 

Bertram did not answer, but cast his eyes on the 
ground to escape her searching gaze. There awoke in 
her breast all the anxiety and care of a loving daughter, 
and she trembled violently as she implored him to inform 
her of the danger that threatened her father. He 
could withstand her no longer. “ She must learn it 
some time; it is better she should hear it from me,” 
muttered he to himself. He took her hand, led her to 
the sofa, and, sitting down by her side, imparted to her 
slowly and carefully, always endeavoring to spare her 
feelings, the terrible troubles and misfortunes of her 
father. But Elise was little acquainted with the ma- 
terial cares of life. She, who had never known any ex- 
treme distress, any real want, could not understand how 
happiness and honor could depend on money. When 
Bertram had finished, she drew a long breath, as if re- 
lieved from some oppressive anxiety. “ How you have 
frightened me!” said she, smiling. “Is that all the 
trouble — we are to be poor? Well, my father does not 
care much about money.” 

“ But he does about his honor,” said Bertram. 

“ Oh, the honor of my father cannot stand in any 
danger,” cried Elise, with noble pride. 

Bertram shook his head. “ But it is in danger, and 
though we are convinced of his innocence, the world 
will not believe it. It will forget all his noble deeds, 


3S6 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


all his high-mindedness and liberality, it will obliterate 
all his past, and only remember that this day, for the 
first time in his life, he has it not in his power to fulfil 
his word. It will condemn him as if he were a com- 
mon cheat, and brand him with the disgraceful name 
of bankrupt.” With increasing dismay Elise had 
watched his countenance as he spoke. Now, for the 
first time, the whole extent of the misfortune which 
was about to befall her father seemed to enter her mind, 
and she felt trembling and crushed. She could feel or 
think of nothing now hut the evil which was rushing in 
upon her parent, and with clasped hands and tears in her 
eyes she asked Bertram if there was no more hope; if 
there was no one who could avert this evil from her 
father. 

Bertram shook his head sadly. “ His credit is gone — 
no one comes to his assistance.” 

“No one?” asked Elise, putting her hand with an 
indescribable expression on his shoulder. “ And you, 
my brother? ” 

“ Ah, I have tried every thing,” said he; and even in 
this moment her very touch darted through him like a 
flash of delight. “ I have implored him with tears in 
my eyes to accept the little I possess, to allow me the 
sacred right of a son. But he refused me. He will not, 
he says, allow a stranger to sacrifice himself for his sake. 
He calls me a stranger! I know that my fortune cannot 
save him, hut it may delay his fall, or at least cancel a 
portion of his debt, and he refuses me. He says that if 
I were his son, he would consent to what he now denies 
me. Elise,” he continued, putting aside, in the pressure 
of the moment, all consideration and all hesitation, “ I 
have asked him for your hand, my sister, that I may in 
reality become his son. I know that you do not love. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


387 


but you might esteem me; for the love I bear your fa- 
ther, you might, as a sacrifice to your duty as a daughter, 
accept my hand and become my bride.” 

He ceased, and looked anxiously and timidly at the 
young girl, who sat blushing and trembling by his side. 
She felt that she owed him an answer; and as she raised 
her eyes to him, and looked into his noble, faithful face, 
which had never changed, never altered — as she thought 
that Bertram had always loved her with the same fidel- 
ity, the same self-sacrifice — with a love which desired 
nothing, wished for nothing but her happiness and con- 
tentment, she was deeply moved; and, for the first time, 
she felt real and painful remorse. Freely and gracefully 
she offered him her hand. 

“ Bertram,” she said, “ of all the men whom I know, 
you are the most noble! As my soul honors you, so 
would my heart love you, if it were mine.” 

Bertram bent over her hand and kissed it; but as he 
looked at her, his eye accidentally caught sight of the 
sparkling jewels which adorned her arms and neck, and 
aware for the first time of her unusually brilliant toilet, 
he asked in surprise the occasion for it. 

“ Oh, do not look at it,” cried Elise; “ tell me about 
my father. What did he answer you when you asked 
him for my hand? ” 

“ That he would never accept such a sacrifice from 
his daughter, even to save himself from death.” 

“ And is his fall unavoidable? ” asked Elise thought- 
fully. 

“ I almost fear it is. This morning already reports 
to that effect were current in the town, and your father 
himself told me that if Russia insisted on payment, he 
was lost irretrievably. J udge, then, of my horror, when 
I have just received from a friend in St. Petersburg the 


388 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


certain intelligence that the empress has already sent a 
special envoy to settle this business with the most strin- 
gent measures. This half a million must he of great im- 
portance to the empress, when, for the purpose of col- 
lecting it, she sends her well-known favorite, Prince 
Stratimojeff! ” 

Elise started from her seat in horror, and stared at 
Bertram. “ Whom did she send? ” 

“ Her favorite, Stratimojeff,” repeated Bertram, 
calmly. 

Elise shuddered; her eyes flashed fire, and her cheeks 
burned. “ Who has given you the right to insult the 
Prince Stratimojeff, that you call him the favorite of 
the adulterous empress? ” 

Bertram looked at her in astonishment. “ What is 
Prince Stratimojeff to you?” said he. “The whole 
world knows that he is the favorite of Catharine. Read, 
then, what my correspondent writes me on the subject.” 
He drew forth a letter, and let Elise read those passages 
which alluded especially to the mission of the imperial 
favorite. 

Elise uttered a scream, and fell hack fainting on the 
sofa; every thing swam before her; her blood rushed to 
her heart; and she muttered faintly, “ I am dying — oh, I 
am dying! ” But this momentary swoon soon passed 
over, and Elise awoke to full consciousness and a percep- 
tion of her situation. She understood every thing — she 
knew every thing. With a feeling of bitter contempt 
she surveyed all the circumstances — her entire, pitiable, 
sorrowful misfortune. “ Therefore, then,” said she to 
herself, almost laughing in scorn, “ therefore this hasty 
wedding, this written consent of the empress — I was to 
he the cloak of this criminal intercourse. Coming 
from her arms, he was anxious to present me to the world. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


389 


( Look ! you calumniate me ! this is my wife, and the 
empress is as pure as an angel ! 5 99 She sprang up, and 
paced the room with hasty steps and rapid breathing. 
Her whole being was in a state of excitement and agita- 
tion. She shuddered at the depth of pitiable meanness 
she had discovered in this man, who not only wished to 
cheat and delude her, but was about, as if in mockery of 
all human feeling, to make herself the scapegoat of her 
imperial rival. 

She did not notice that Bertram was looking at her 
in all astonishment, and in vain seeking a clew to her 
conduct. “ This is too much ! 99 cried she, half solilo- 
quizing. “ Love cannot stand this! Love! away with 
the word — I would despise myself if I could find a 
spark of this love in my heart! ” She pressed her hands 
to her breast, as if she wished thereby to extinguish the 
flames which were consuming her “ Oh! ” she cried, 
u it burns fearfully, hut it is not love! Hate, too, has its 
fires. I hate him! I know it now — I hate him, and I 
will have vengeance on the traitor! I will show him that 
I scorn him! ” Like an infuriated tigress she darted at 
the myrtle-wreath which lay on the table. “ The bond 
of love is broken, and I will destroy it as I do this 
wreath ! 99 she exclaimed, wildly; hut suddenly a gentle 
hand was laid upon her extended arm, and Bertram’s 
soft and sympathizing voice sounded in her ear. 

What he said, what words he used — he who now 
understood all, and perceived the fulness of her grief — 
with what sincere, heart-born words he sought to com- 
fort her, she neither knew nor understood. But she 
heard his voice; she knew that a sympathizing friend 
stood at her side, ready to offer a helping hand to 
save her from misery, and faithfully to draw her to his 
breast. She would have been lost, she would have gone 


390 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


crazy, if Bertram had not stood at her side. She felt it 
— she knew it. Whenever she had been threatened with 
calamity, he was always near, to watch and shield, to 
afford her peace and comfort. 

“ Bertram! Bertram! ” she cried, trembling in every 
limb, “ protect me. Do not shut me out from your 
heart! have pity on me! ” She leaned her head on his 
breast and wept aloud. Now, in her sorrow, she felt it 
to he a blessing that he was present, and for the first 
time she had a clear consciousness that God had sent him 
to her to be a helping friend, a guardian angel. 

The illusions and errors of her whole life fell from 
before her eyes like a veil, and she saw in a clear light 
both herself and Bertram. And now, as she leaned her 
head upon his breast, her thoughts became prayers, and 
her tears thank-offerings. “ I have entertained an angel 
unawares,” said she, remembering, unintentionally, the 
language of Holy Writ. When Bertram asked the 
meaning of her words, she answered, “ They mean that 
an erring heart has found the right road home.” 

She wiped away her tears with her long locks. She 
would no longer weep, nor shed a single tear for the 
false, intriguing traitor, the degenerate scion of a de- 
generate race. He was not worthy of a sigh of revenge, 
not even of a reproach. A mystery had slept in her 
breast, and she thought to have found the true solution 
in the word “ Feodor! ” hut she was mistaken, and God 
had allowed this long-mourned, long-desired man to 
return to her, that she might he allowed to read anew 
the riddle of her heart more correctly, to find out its 
deceitful nature, its stubborn pride, and to conquer 
them. Thus thinking, she raised her head from Ber- 
tram’s breast, and looked at him “ You asked my fa- 
ther for my hand. Do you still love me? ” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


391 


Bertram smiled. This question seemed so strange 
and singular! “ Do I love you?” asked he. “Can he 
ever cease to love who has once loved? ” 

“ Do you still love me? ” she repeated. 

“ Faithfully and honorably/’ said he, with feeling. 

“ Faithfully and honorably! ” cried Elise, deeply 
moved. “ Oh those are words as strong as rocks, and 
like the shipwrecked sailor, I will cling to them to save 
myself from sinking. Oh, Bertram, how good you are! 
You love my father, and desire to he his son, only for 
the sake of helping him.” 

“And if need be, to work for him, to give up my 
life for him! ” 

With her bright eyes she looked deeply into his, and 
held out her hand to him. “ Give me your hand, Ber- 
tram,” said she, softly. “ You were a better son to my 
father than I have been a daughter. I will learn from 
you. Will you he my teacher? ” 

Bertram gazed at her astonished and inquiringly. 
She replied to this look with a sweet smile, and like 
lightning it shot through his heart, and a happy antici- 
pation pervaded his entire soul. “ My God! my God! 
is it possible ? ” murmured he, “ is the day of suffering, 
indeed, past? Will — ” 

He felt Elise suddenly shudder, and pressing his 
hand significantly, she whispered, “ Silence, Bertram, 
look there! ” 

Bertram followed the direction of her eyes, and saw 
Gotzkowsky, who had opened the door of his study, and 
was entering the room, his features pale and distorted, 
and his gaze fixed. “ He does not see us,” whispered 
Elise. “ He is talking to himself. Do not disturb him.” 

In silence she pointed to the curtains just behind 
them, concealing a recess, in the middle of which stood 


392 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


a costly vase. “ Let us conceal ourselves,” said she, and, 
unnoticed by Gotzkowsky, they glided behind the cur- 
tains. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE RESCUE. 

Gotzkowsky had closed with life and earthly affairs. 
He had signed the document declaring him a bankrupt, 
and he had delivered over all his property to his creditors. 
The die had been cast. He had been powerful and 
great through money, but his power and greatness had 
now gone from him, for he was poor. The same men 
who yesterday had bowed down to the ground before 
him, had to-day passed him by in pride and scorn; and 
those who had vowed him eternal gratitude, had turned 
him from their door like a beggar. Why should he 
continue to bear the burdens of a life which had no 
longer any allurements, and whose most precious jewel, 
his honor, he had lost? 

De Neufville had done right, and only a coward 
would still cling to life after all that was worth living 
for had disappeared. They should not point scornfully 
at him as he went along the streets. He would not be 
condemned to hear whispered after him, “Look! there 
goes Gotzkowsky the bankrupt.” No, this fearful word 
should never wound his ears or pierce his heart. 

Once more only would he pass through those streets, 
which had so often seen him in his glory — once more, 
not poor, nor as the laughing-stock of children, but so 
that those who now derided him should bow down before 
him, and honor him as the mourning emblem of departed 


/ 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 393 

honor: only his body should pass by these men who had 
broken his heart. He had determined to quit this miser- 
able existence, to leave a world which had proved itself 
to him only a gulf of wickedness and malice, and his 
freed spirit would wing its way to regions of light and 
knowledge. 

With such thoughts he entered the room which was 
to be the scene of his last hours. But he would not go 
down to the grave without bearing witness to the wicked- 
ness and malice of the world. His death should be a 
monument of its disgrace and ingratitude. 

For this purpose he had sought this room, for in it 
was the costly etagere on which stood the silver pitcher 
presented to him by the Council of Leipsic as a token of 
their gratitude, and from it he would drink his fatal 
draught. He took it and emptied into it a small white 
powder, that looked so innocent and light, and yet was 
strong enough to drag him down with leaden weight 
into the grave. He then took the water-goblet and 
poured water on it. The draught was ready; all that 
was necessary was for him to put it to his lips to imbibe 
eternal rest, eternal oblivion. 

Elise saw it all — understood it all. She folded her 
hands and prayed; her teeth chattered together, and all 
that she could feel and know was, that she must save 
him, or follow him to the grave. “ When he raises the 
pitcher to his lips, I will rush out,” she whispered to 
Bertram, softly, and opened the curtains a little in order 
to watch him. 

Gotzkowsky had returned to the etagere. He took 
the silver-oaken wreath, the civic crown presented to him 
by the city of Berlin, and looked at it with a bitter, 
scornful smile. “ I earned this,” he said, half aloud 
« I will take it with me to the grave. They shall find 


394 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

my corpse crowned with this wreath, and when they 
turn away in shame, the broken bankrupt, John Gotz- 
kowsky, will enjoy his last triumph over a degenerate 
world.” And as if in a dream, in the feverish delirium 
of grief, he placed the wreath on his brow, then for a 
moment stood with his head bent in deep thought. 

It was a strange picture to see his proud, tall figure, 
his pale, nervous face, crowned with the silver wreath, 
and opposite to him, looking through the curtains, his 
daughter, whose glowing eyes were eagerly watching her 
father. 

And now Gotzkowsky seized the silver pitcher, raised 
it on high — it had already touched his lips — hut sud- 
denly he staggered hack. A dearly-loved voice had 
called his name. Ah, it was the voice of his daughter, 
whom he had forgotten in the bitterness of his grief. 
He had believed his heart dead to all feeling, hut love 
still lived in him, and love called him back to life. Like 
an electric shock it flew through his whole frame. 

He put the pitcher down, and covering his face with 
his hands, cried, “ Oh, unnatural father! I forgot mv 
child! ” J 

Behind him stood Elise, praying to God eagerly and 
fervently. She wished to appear quite composed, quite 
unsuspicious, that her father might not have even an 
inkling of her knowledge of his dark design. Her voice 
dare not tremble, her eye must remain clear and calm, 
and a smile play about her lips, which yet quivered with 
the anxious prayers she had just offered to God. “ My 
father! ” she said, in a low but quiet voice — “ my father, 

I come to beg your blessing. And here is the myrtle 
wreath with which you were to adorn me.” 

Gotzkowsky still kept his face covered, hut his whole 
frame trembled. “ I thank Thee, 0 my God! I thank 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


395 


Thee! the voice of my child has saved me.” And turn- 
ing round suddenly, he stretched out both arms toward 
her, exclaiming aloud: “ Elise, my child, come to my 
heart, and comfort your father.” 

Elise uttered a cry of joy, rushed into his arms, and 
nestled close to his heart. She whispered in his ear 
words of fervent love, of warmest affection. They fell 
on Gotzkowsky’s heart like soothing halm; they forced 
tears of mingled joy and repentance from his eyes. 

A long while did they remain locked in each other’s 
arms. Their lips were silent, hut their hearts spoke, 
and they understood each other without words. Then 
Elise raised herself from her father’s embrace, and, again 
offering him the myrtle- wreath, said with a smile, “ And 
now, my father, bless your daughter.” 

“ I will,” said Gotzkowsky, drying his eyes. “ Yes, 
from my whole soul will I bless you. But where is the 
bridegroom? ” 

Elise looked at him inquiringly. “ Will you hid him, 
also, welcome? ” 

“ That I will with all my heart! ” 

Elise approached the curtain, drew it hack, and tak- 
ing Bertram’s hand, led him to her father, saying, 
with indescribable grace: “ My father, bless your chil- 
dren.” 

“ This is your bridegroom? ” asked Gotzkowsky, and 
for the first time a sunbeam seemed to flash across his 
face. 

Bertram with a cry of delight drew Elise to his heart. 
She clung to him, and said warmly: “ I will rest on your 
breast, Bertram. I will be as true and as faithful as your- 
self. You shall reconcile me to mankind. You will 
make us both happy again. My father and I put our 
hope in you, and we both know it will not be in vain. 


396 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


Is it not so, my father?” She extended her hand to 
Gotzkowsky. 

He took it, but was too much affected to speak. He 
pressed it to his eyes and his breast, and then looked with 
a smile into the countenance of his daughter. 

Elise continued: “Look, father, life is still worth 
something. It gives you a son, who is happy to share 
your unhappiness with you. It gives you a daughter, 
who looks upon every tear of yours as a jewel in your 
crown; who would he proud to go as a beggar with her 
father from place to place, and say to all the world, 

‘ Gotzkowsky is a beggar because he was rich in love 
toward his fellow-men; he has become poor because he 
was a noble man, who had faith in mankind/ ” And 
as she drew her father into her own and Bertram’s em- 
brace, she asked him, smiling through her tears, “ My 
father, do you still wish to leave your children? ” 

Ho, I will live — live for you! ” cried Gotzkowsky, 
as, almost overcome with emotion and pleasure, he threw 
his arms around their necks, and kissed them both warm- 
ly and lovingly. “A new life is to begin for us,” said 
he, cheerfully. “We will seek refuge in a quiet cottage, 
and take with us none of the show and luxury for which 
men work and sell their souls — none of the tawdriness of 
life. Will you not he content, Elise, to he poor, and 
purchase the honor of your father with the loss of this 
vain splendor? ” 

Elise leaned her head on his shoulder. “ I was poor,” 
she said, “ when the world called me rich. How I am 
rich when it will call me poor. Give up every thing 
that we possess, father, that no one may say Gotzkowsky 
owes him any thing, and has not kept his word.” With 
ready haste she loosened the necklace from her throat, 
the bracelets from her arms, and the drops from her ears. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


397 


“ Take these, too/’ said she, smiling. “ Add them to 
the rest. We will keep nothing but honor, and the con- 
sciousness of our probity.” 

“Now I am your son, father,” cried Bertram, with 
beaming eyes. “ Now I have a right to serve you. You 
dare no longer refuse to accept all that is mine for your 
own. We will save the honor of our house, and pay all 
our creditors.” 

“ That we will do,” exclaimed Gotzkowsky; “ I ac- 
cept your offering, my son.” And joining Elise and Ber- 
tram's hands together, he cast grateful looks to heaven, 
saying: “ From this day forward we are poor, and yet far 
richer than many thousands of rich people ; for we are of 
sound health, and have strong arms to work. We have 
good consciences, and that proud contentment which God 
gives to those only who trust in His help.” 


CHAPTER XYI. 

RETRIBUTION. 

The appointed hour had arrived, and in the full 
splendor of his rich uniform, decorated with orders, and 
glittering with diamonds bestowed upon him by the 
favor of two empresses. Prince Feodor von Stratimojeff 
entered Gotzkowsky's house. With the proud step of 
victory he ascended the stairs that led to the apartments 
of his bride. The goal was at last reached. The beauti- 
ful, lovely, and wealthy maiden was finally to become his 
wife. He could present her at the court of St. Peters- 
burg, and with her beauty, her virtue, and his happiness 
revenge himself on the fickle empress. These were his 
26 


398 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


thoughts as he opened the door and entered Elise’s room. 
There she stood in her white bridal attire, as delicate, as 
slender, and as graceful as a lily to the sight. There 
stood also her father, and the friend of her youth, Ber- 
tram. The witnesses to the ceremony were present, 
and nothing more was necessary but to lead her to the 
altar. Elise had requested of her father that she herself 
should see the prince, and give him his dismissal. She 
had also requested that Bertram should be present. She 
wished to show him that her heart had, at once and for- 
ever, been healed of its foolish and unholy love, and that 
she could face the prince without trembling or hesita- 
tion. This was an offering which she wished to bring to 
the honor of her future husband and her own pride; and 
she would have despised herself if a motion of her eye- 
brow or a sigh from her breast had betrayed the sadness 
which, against her will, she felt in her heart. She 
looked, therefore, with a cold and calm eye on the prince 
as he entered, and for the first time he seemed no longer 
the handsome man, the being endowed with numberless 
fascinations, of former days. She read only in his flac- 
cid features the sad history of the past. The charm was 
broken which had held her eyes captive. Her vision was 
clear again, and she shuddered before this wild, de- 
moniacal beauty which she had once adored as God’s 
image in man. As she looked at him, she felt as if she 
could hate him, because she had loved him; because she 
had spent her first youth, her first love, her first happi- 
ness, on him; because he had defrauded her of the 
peace and innocence of her heart; and because she no 
longer had even the right of weeping for her lost love, 
but was forced to turn away from it with blushes of 
shame. 

Feodor approached with an air of happy triumph and 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


399 


satisfaction, and, bowing low to her father, said, with a 

most exquisite smile, “ I have come to seek my bride 

to request Eliseys hand of her father.” 

With eyes beaming with pleasure he offered Elise his 
hand, but hers remained calm and cold, and her voice 
did not tremble or falter as she said: “lama bride, but 
not yours, Prince Stratimojeff; ” and extending her 
hand to Bertram, she continued: “ This is my husband! 
To-day, for the third time, he has saved me — saved me 
from you! ” 

Prince Feodor felt annihilated, and staggered back 
as if struck by an electric shock. “ Elise! is this the 
way you reward my love? ” asked he sadly, after a pause. 
“ Is this the troth you plighted me? ” 

She stepped up close to him, and said softly: “ I 
kept my heart faithful to my Feodor, but he ceded it to 
Prince Stratimojeff. Elise is too proud to be the wife 
of a man who owes his title of prince to the fact of being 
the favorite of an empress.” 

She turned and was about to leave the room, but 
Feodor held her back. JSTo reserve, no concealment were 
any longer possible to him. He only felt that he was 
infinitely wretched, and that he had lost the hope of 
his life. “ Elise,” he said, in that soft, sad tone, which 
had formerly charmed her heart, “ I came to you to save 
me; you have thrust me back into an abyss. Like a 
drowning man I stretched out my hand to you, that in 
your arms I might live a new life. But Fate is just. 
It hunts me back pitilessly from this refuge, and I must 
and will sink. Well, then, though the waves of life 
close over me, my last utterance will be your name.” 

Elise found herself capable of the cruel courage of 
listening to his pathetic words with a smile: “ You will 
yet have time to think over your death,” said she, with 


400 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


proud composure; and, turning to her father, she con- 
tinued, “My business with this gentleman is finished. 
Now, father, begin yours.” She gave her hand to Ber- 
tram, and, without honoring the prince with another 
look, she left the room with her betrothed. 

“ And now,” said Gotzkowsky coldly, “ now, sir, let 
us proceed to our affairs. Will you have the kindness 
to follow me to my counting-room? You have come 
to Berlin to rob me of my daughter and my property! 
You have been unsuccessful in the one; try now the 
other.” 

“ That I will, that I shall! ” cried the prince, gnash- 
ing his teeth, and anger flashing from his eyes. “ Elise 
has been pitiless, I will he so too.” 

“ And I would hurl your pity from me as an insult,” 
said Gotzkowsky, “ if you offered it.” 

“We are then enemies, for life and death — ” 

“Oh, no! We are two tradesmen who bargain and 
haggle with each other about the profits. There is noth- 
ing more between us.” He opened the door and called 
in his secretary and his cashier. “ This gentleman,” 
said Gotzkowsky, with cutting coldness, “ is the agent of 
Russia, sent here to negotiate with me, and in case I can- 
not pay, to adopt the most severe measures toward me. 
You, gentlemen, will transact this business with him. 
You have the necessary instructions.” He then turned 
to the prince, who stood breathless and trembling from 
inward excitement, burning with anger and pain, and 
leaning against the wall to keep himself from falling. 
“ Prince,” said he, “ you will he paid. Take these thirty 
thousand dollars; they are the fortune of my son-in-law. 
He has given it cheerfully to release us from you. Here, 
further, are my daughter’s diamonds. Take them to 
your empress as a fit memorial of your German deeds. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


401 


and my pictures will cover the balance of my indebted- 
ness to you.” * 

“ It is too much, it is too much ! ” cried Prince 
Feodor; and as if hunted by the furies, he rushed out, 
his fists clinched, ready to crush any one who should try 
to stop him. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

TARDY GRATITUDE. 

John Gotzkowsky, the rich merchant of Berlin, 
had determined to struggle no longer with Fate; no 
longer to undergo the daily martyrdom of an endangered 
honor, of a threatened name. Like the brave Sicken- 
hagen, he said to himself, “ Better a terrible end than 
an endless terror,” and he preferred casting himself down 
the abyss at once, to be slowly hurled from cliff to cliff. 
He had given notice to the authorities of his failure, and 
of his intention of making over all his property to his 
creditors. He was now waiting to hand over the assets 
to the assignees, and leave the house which was no longer 
his. Not secretly, however, but openly, in the broad 
daylight, he would cross the threshold to pass through 
the streets of that town which was so much indebted to 
him, and which had formerly hailed him as her savior 
and preserver. It was inevitable — he must fall, but his 

* Gotzkowsky paid his debt to Russia with thirty thousand . 
dollars cash ; a set of diamonds ; and pictures which were taken 
by Russia at a valuation of eighty thousand dollars, and formed 
the first basis of the imperial gallery at St. Petersburg. Among 
these were some of the finest paintings of Titian, some of the best- 
pieces of Rubens, and one of Rembrandt’s most highly executed 
works — the portrait of his old mother. 


402 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


fall should at the same time he his revenge. For the last 
time he would open the state apartments of his house; 
for the last time receive his guests. But these guests 
would be the legal authorities, who were to he his heirs 
while he was yet alive, and who were to consign his name 
to oblivion before death had inscribed it on any tomb- 
stone. 

The announcement of his fall had spread rapidly 
through the town, and seemed at last to have broken 
through the hardened crust which collects around men’s 
hearts. The promptings of conscience seemed for a mo- 
ment to overcome the voice of egotism. The magistrates 
were ashamed of their ingratitude; and even the Jews 
of the mint, Ephraim and Itzig, had perceived that it 
would have been better to have avoided notoriety, and 
to have raised up the humbled Gotzkowsky, than to have 
trodden him in the dust entirely. 

Instead of the officials whom he had expected, how- 
ever, a committee of the Council, accompanied by 
Ephraim and Itzig, entered his house and asked to speak 
with him. He received them in his apartments of state, 
with his children at his side. His figure was erect, his 
head proudly raised, and he regarded them, not as an 
unfortunate, downcast man, but as a superior would 
regard his inferiors; and they lowered their eyes before 
his penetrating glances, ashamed and conscious of wrong. 

“ The Council have sent us,” said one of the aider- 
men. 

“ 1 have no further business with the Council,” said 
Gotzkowsky, contemptuously. 

“ Gotzkowsky, do not be angry with us any longer,” 
said the aldermen, almost imploringly. “ The magis- 
tracy, in acknowledgment of your great services to the 
city, are ready and willing to pay the sum you demand.” 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


403 


Gotzkowsky shook his head proudly. “ I am no 
longer ready to accept it. The term has expired; you 
can no longer buy me off; you remain my debtors.” 

“ But you will listen to us,” cried Itzig. “We come 
in the name of the Jews.” 

“We are empowered to assist you,” added Ephraim. 
“We have been instructed by the Jews to give you, on 
the security of your signature and the prepayment of 
the interest, as much money and credit as will prevent 
your house from failing.” 

Gotzkowsky’s large bright eyes rested for a moment 
searchingly and speculatively on Ephraim’s countenance; 
and the light, mocking smile which stood on the lips of 
the Jew confirmed his determination, and strengthened 
him in his resolution. “ My house has failed,” said he, 
quietly and proudly, and, reading the anxiety and terror 
depicted on their countenances, he continued almost ex- 
ultingly: “yes! my house has failed. The document 
in which I announced it and declared myself a bankrupt, 
has already been sent to the magistracy and the mer- 
chant’s guild.” 

“ You dare not fail! ” cried Itzig, in a rage. 

“ You dare not put this insult upon the Council and 
the town,” exclaimed the aldermen, with dignity. “We 
cannot allow posterity to say of us, ‘ The town of Berlin 
left the noblest of her citizens to perish in want and 
misery.’ ” 

“ It will be well for me if posterity should say so, 
for then my name and my honor will be saved.” 

“ But the magistracy will be delighted to be able to 
show its gratitude toward you.” 

“ And the Jews will be delighted, too,” cried Itzig. 
“ The Jews are ready to help you.” 

Gotzkowsky cast an angry look at him. “ That is to 


404 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


say, you have calculated that it will not profit you if I 
do fail. You have large drafts on me, and if I fail, you 
only get a portion of your debt; whereas, if I stand, you 
get the whole. You would be magnanimous from self- 
interest, but I do not accept your magnanimity — you 
shall lose. Let that be your punishment, and my re- 
venge. You have wounded my heart unto death, there- 
fore I will strike you on the only spot in which you are 
sensitive to pain: I attack your greed of money. You 
come too late; I am bankrupt! My drafts are no longer 
current, but my honor will not die with my firm.” 

They were all silent, and gazed down to the earth 
frowningly. Only one looked toward Gotzkowsky with 
a clear, bright eye. This was Ephraim, who, mindful 
of his conversation with Gotzkowsky, said to himself, 
triumphantly, “He has taken one lesson from me — he 
has learned to despise mankind.” 

But Itzig was only the more furious. “ You wish 
our ruin,” said he, angrily. “ You will be ungrateful. 
The J ews, who made you a present of a handsome ring, 
have not deserved that of you. What will the world 
say?” 

“The world will learn the cause of my ruin, and 
condemn you,” said Gotzkowsky. “ Go, take all that I 
have; I will reserve nothing; I despise riches and estate. 

I wish to be poor; for in poverty is peace. I turn my 
back upon this house, and I take nothing with me but 
this laurel-wreath and you, my children.” 

Smilingly he gave his hands to Bertram and Elise. 
“ Come, my children! let us wander out in the happiness 
of poverty. We shake the dust from our feet, and are 
light and free, for though we are poor, we are rich in 
love. Yes, we are poor; but poverty means freedom. 
We are no longer dependent upon prejudices, conven- 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


405 


tionalities, and forms. We have nothing more to con- 
ceal or hide. We need not he ashajned of onr poverty, 
for we dare to show it to all the world; and when we go 
through the streets as ragged beggars, these rich people 
will cast down their eyes in shame, for our poverty will 
accuse them, and our rags testify against them. Come, 
my children, let us begin our life of poverty. But when 
death comes to take me away, crown my cold brow with 
this laurel-wreath, given me by the city of Berlin, and 
write on my coffin: ‘ This is the world’s reward! ’ 99 * 

And firm and erect, leaning on his children, Gotz- 
kowsky crossed the room. No one dared to detain him. 
Shame and remorse, anger and terror, kept them all 
spell-bound. “ Let us go, let us go; I have a horror of 
this house, and this splendor sickens me.” 

“Yes! let us go,” said Elise, throwing her arms 
around her father’s neck. They went out into the street. 
How refreshing did the cool air seem to them, and how 
soft and sweet did the calm blue sky look down upon 
them! Gotzkowsky gazed up at it. He did not per- 
ceive the multitude of people which stood before his own 
door, or rather he did not wish to see them, because he 
took them for a portion of the idle, curious populace, 
which follows misfortune everywhere, and finds a spec- 
tacle for the amusement of its ennui in the suffering of 
others. 

But for this once, Gotzkowsky was mistaken; it was 
indeed only poor people who were standing in the 
street, but their countenances bore the marks of sym- 
pathy, and their looks were sad. They had heard of 
his misfortunes, and had hastened hither, not from 
curiosity, but from interest in him. They were only 
factory-hands, to whom Gotzkowsky had been bene- 

* With these words Gotzkowsky closes his autobiography. 


406 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


factor, friend, and adviser; they were the poor whom he 
had supported and comforted, who now stood before his 
house, to bid him a last farewell. To be sure, they 
could render him no assistance — they had no money, no 
treasures — but they brought their love with their tears. 

At the head of the workmen stood Balthazar, with 
his young wife, and although his eyes were dimmed with 
tears, he still recognized his master who had done him 
so much kindness; and although his breast was stifled 
with grief, yet he controlled himself, and cried out, 
“ Long live Gotzkowsky, our father! ” 

“ Hurrah for Gotzkowsky! Long may he live! ” 
cried the crowd, not jubilantly, but in a sad tone, half 
smothered by tears. 

Gotzkowsky’s countenance beamed with joy, and 
with a grateful smile he stretched out his hand to Bal- 
thazar. “ I thank you, my friend,” he said; “ you have 
often shouted in compliment to me, but never has it 
given me so much pleasure as to-day.” 

“ Never has it been done more cordially and sincere- 
ly,” said Balthazar, pressing Gotzkowsky’s hand to his 
lips. “ You have always been a father and a friend to 
us, and we have often been sorry that you were so rich 
and powerful that we could not show you how dear you 
were to us. Now that you are no longer rich, we can 
prove that we love you, for we can work for you. We 
have come to an agreement among ourselves. Each of 
us will give one working-day in the week, and the pro- 
ceeds shall go to you, and as there are one hundred and 
seventy of us workmen, you shall at least not starve, 
Father Gotzkowsky.” 

Gotzkowsky looked at him with eyes glistening with 
pleasure. “ I thank you, my friends,” said he, deeply 
moved; “and if I do not accept your offer you must 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


407 


not think that I do not appreciate its greatness or its 
beauty. Who can say that I am poor when you love 
me, my children?” 

At that moment, a carriage stopped at the door. 
Bertram had brought it to convey them to their new and 
modest residence. 

“ Are you going, then, to leave us forever?” said 
Balthazar mournfully. 

“ No, my children, I remain among you, in the midst 
of you. I am only going to exchange this large house 
for a smaller one.” 

“ Come,” cried Balthazar , 61 come, my friends, we will 
escort our father, Gotzkowsky, to his new house. The 
town of Berlin shall see that only rich people are ungrate- 
ful, and that the poor never forget their benefactor and 
their friend. Come, let us take out the horses. We will 
draw Father Gotzkowsky through the streets.” 

The crowd answered with a thundering hurrah; and 
with busy haste they proceeded to the work. The horses 
were unharnessed, and twelve of the most powerful 
workmen crowded around the pole. In vain did Gotz- 
kowsky beg them to refrain, not to make him an object 
of general curiosity. But the people paid no heed to his 
request — it was a necessity to their hearts to give him 
a public proof of their love. Almost by force they raised 
him into the carriage, and compelled Bertram and Elise, 
who had mixed with the crowd for the purpose of escap- 
ing attention, to take their seats beside him. And now 
the procession advanced. Women and workmen went 
on before, rejoicing and jumping about merrily at the 
side of the carriage; and when they met other work- 
men, these latter stopped and waved their hats, and 
greeted Gotzkowsky, calling him the great factory-lord, 
the father of his workmen, the benefactor of Berlin. 


408 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

Especially when the procession came to the low houses 
and the poor cottages, the small dusty windows were 
thrown open, and sun-browned faces looked out, and 
toil-hardened hands greeted and waved. 

The forsaken, the ruined Gotzkowsky celebrated this 
day a splendid triumph. The jubilant voice that thus 
did him homage was that of the people — and the voice 
of the people is the voice of God! 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE AUCTION - . 

All was now over — the curtain had fallen: Gotz- 
kowsky had run his brilliant career, and retired into 
oblivion. His fall was for some days the topic of con- 
versation of the good Berliners; but it was soon super- 
seded by some other novelty, and without either sym- 
pathy or ill-feeling they passed by the deserted house 
with the closed windows which had once been Gotz- 
kowsky’s residence. The king had purchased it, in 
order to carry on, at the expense of the royal govern- 
ment, the porcelain factory which Gotzkowsky had 
founded. 

Months had passed by. How many changes had 
taken place in this short space of time! How many 
tears had been shed there, how many hopes destroyed! 

Elise had become Bertram’s wife; and she lived with 
him in the small, quiet residence which they had selected 
m the most remote quarter of the town. The three had 
entered the low, narrow rooms, which were to he their 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


409 


home, with the firm determination not to let themselves 
be annoyed by such slight material privation as they 
might have to endure, but to pass them over with cheer- 
ful equanimity and proud indifference, consoling them- 
selves with the conviction that no one could rob them of 
their great and pure love. And besides this, their honor 
and their reputation were untouched, for every one was 
acquainted with Gotzkowsky’s fate, every one knew 
that he had not fallen through his own fault, but 
through the force of circumstances, and the baseness of 
mankind. 

He might have cause of complaint against the world, 
it had none against him. With his creditors he had 
been honest. All that he possessed he had given up to 
them, and they were all satisfied. With proud step and 
unbent head could he pass through the streets, for no one 
dared to follow him with insulting words. Nor had he 
need to be ashamed of his poverty, for it was in itself a 
proof not only of his unmerited misfortune, but of his 
integrity. All this he said and repeated to himself 
daily, and yet it pained him to go through the streets, 
feeling solitary and downcast. His eyes even filled with 
tears, as one day passing by his house he saw the gates 
open, and equipages, as in former days, at his door, while 
genteel and rich people, with cold, apathetic counte- 
nances, were entering his house as they had done of 
yore. Formerly they came to Gotzkowsky’s splendid 
dinners, now they had come to the auction. The 
fauteuils and velvet-covered sofas, the carpets and gold- 
embroidered curtains, the chandeliers of bronze and rock 
crystal, the paintings and statuary, the silver table-ware, 
and the costly porcelain service, all these were now ex- 
posed for sale. 

There is something sad and mournful about an 


410 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


auction. It speaks always of the ruin and breaking up 
of a man’s life and the happiness of his family, of the 
wreck of a shattered existence, and the sad remains of 
what was once, perhaps, a brilliant destiny. On the 
day of an auction there ceases to be a home, the sacred 
secrets of family life vanish; home is no longer the 
abode of peace, and the long-cherished penates hide their 
heads in grief. 

Then the gates are opened, and the curious multi- 
tude rushes in, and with callous eye spies into each corner 
and every room; tries the sofas on which, perhaps, yester- 
day some poor widow sat weeping for her lost husband; 
throws itself down on the bed which once had been the 
sacred temple of their love; and coldly and unfeelingly 
examines the furniture of parlor and boudoir, which yet 
retains the appearance of comfort and of genial repose, 
though soon to be scattered to the winds, to proclaim 
aloud its sad and secret story in the gaudy show-room of 
some second-hand dealer. All the beauty and splendor 
of Gotzkowsky’s former days were now to be displayed 
at auction. For this reason there stood so many car- 
riages before his door; for this reason did so many noble 
and wealthy persons come to his house, and, mixed with 
brokers and speculators, crowd into those halls, which 
they had formerly trod with friendly smiles and in cost- 
ly dresses. 

No one took any heed of the figure of a man crouch- 
ing, leaning against the staircase, with his hat pressed 
down over his brow, and the collar of his cloak drawn up 
high over his face. No one perceived how he shuddered 
when the auctioneer handled the beautiful articles and 
called on the public to bid. It was to him a terrible 
grief to assist at these obsequies of his past life, and yet 
he could not tear himself away. He felt fascinated, as 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


411 


it were, by some supernatural power, and forced to re- 
main in the house and attend this horrible cere- 
mony. In the tediousness of his lonesome, inactive, idle 
misery, it was a species of diversion to him, something 
to arouse him from his dull rumination, to be pres- 
ent at this disintegration and demolition of his own 
house. 

As Jeremiah once sat among the ruins of Jerusalem, 
so sat Gotzkowsky with concealed face at the threshold 
of his house, listening with savage joy to the strokes of 
the auctioneer’s hammer — albeit each blow struck him 
to the heart, and made its wounds smart still more keen- 
ly. At times, when a well-known voice fell on his ear, 
he would raise his head a little, and look at the bidders, 
and examine their cold, unsympathizing faces. How 
many were there among them whom he had once called 
his friends, and to whom he had done good! And now, 
like vultures, they flocked to the carcass of his past; 
they bought his treasures, while their eyes glistened 
with malicious joy. They were delighted to be able 
to boast that they possessed a souvenir of the rich Gotz- 
kowsky. 

When Gotzkowsky saw this, he felt ashamed that he 
had once smiled lovingly on these men, had confided in 
them, and believed in their assurances of friendship. He 
rose to leave, feeling himself refreshed and strengthened, 
for his depression and grief had left him. Never had 
he walked the streets more proudly than on the day 
when he returned from the auction to his dark, lowly 
dwelling. Never had he looked upon mankind with 
greater pity or more bitter scorn. And yet it pained 
him to reenter this dismal, quiet house, and to force him- 
self back into the ennui and indolence of his inactive 
life. It was such a sensitive, burning pain, so, in the 


412 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


fulness of his strength and manhood to be condemned to 
do nothing more than drag on a weary existence — to 
sleep, to eat, and to dream of the past! And yet he 
would repeat to himself, he was strong and active to 
work and create; and nevertheless, he was condemned 
to idleness, to live by the favor and toil of others, even 
if these others were his children. 

But they worked for him with so much pleasure 
and so much love! Bertram had accepted the situation 
of book-keeper in a large factory, and his salary was 
sufficient to support the three. To be sure, they had 
to manage carefully, and provide scantily enough. But 
Elise was active and notable; though as the spoilt child 
of wealth, she had, indeed, been able to learn nothing 
of those minor offices of life which are called by women 
“ housekeeping.” Still the instinct of her sex had en- 
abled her soon to acquire this knowledge, and in a short 
time she became mistress of it. It was, indeed, a pleas- 
ant sight to see Elise, with the same quiet cheerfulness, 
acting at one moment the part of cook in the kitchen, 
at another setting her little chamber to rights with busy 
hands, and making amends in cleanliness and neatness 
for what was wanting in elegance and beauty. True, 
she was altered, but never since she had been Bertram’s 
wife had her brow been darkened or her eye dimmed. 
Her face was always bright and clear: for her husband, 
when he returned home, she had always a smile of wel- 
come, a cordial greeting — never a word of complaint or 
of mourning over the privations she was obliged to un- 
dergo, or the wealth she had lost. Elise felt rich— for 
she loved her husband; not with that ardent, consuming 
passion which she had once felt, and which had been the 
cause nf so much disappointment and so many tears; 
but with that gentle, affectionate flame which never dies 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


413 


out, but is constantly supplied and nourished by esteem 
and appreciation. 

Bertram was no longer her brother; he was her be- 
loved, her friend, her counsellor, and comforter, above 
all. With him she was always certain to be understood 
and appreciated, to find comfort and help. As on a rock, 
she could now rely on the noble heart of one who was at 
the same time so firm, and yet so soft in loving, that he 
had never doubted her, never turned away from her. 
Her whole heart was given up to him in gratitude 
and affection, and with her whole life did she wish to 
reward him for his noble love, for the self-sacrificing 
gratitude with which he had given up his entire fortune 
to her father, and saved the name and honor of his house 
from disgrace and shame. She desired neither splendor 
nor jewels. Surrounded by the halo of her love, and of 
her quiet, peaceful happiness, this poor, little dwelling 
seemed to her as a temple of peace and of holy rest; and, 
locked in Bertram’s embrace, her wishes never reached 
beyond its narrow sphere. 

But Gotzkowsky was not as yet able to attain this 
resignation. This repose was to him an annihilating 
torment, and the inactive vegetation a living death. 
With each day the torture increased, the soreness of his 
heart became more corroding and painful. At times he 
felt as if he must scream out aloud in the agony of his 
despair. He would strike his chest with his clinched 
fists, and cry to God in the overflow of his sufferings. 
He who his whole life long had been active, was now 
condemned to idleness; he who through his whole life had 
worked for others, was now obliged to lay his hands in 
his lap, and allow others to labor for him. How had he 
deserved this? What crime had he committed, that 
after he had toiled and worked honestly, he should go 
27 


414 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


down, whilst others who had enriched themselves by 
fraud and lying, by cunning and malice, should drive 
through the streets in splendid carriages, surrounded by 
elegance and wealth, while he was obliged to creep along, 
bowed down with sorrow? He had gone down, while 
Ephraim had risen higher and higher. He had become 
poor because he was honest; but Ephraim had grown 
rich on usury. His firm had failed, while Ephraim con- 
tinued to coin money. What did the Jew care that his 
name was branded by the people, that they spoke with 
cutting sarcasm of the pewter-money to which he had so 
skilfully imparted the appearance of silver coin, and that 
he was derided by all? Gotzkowsky’s name, too, had 
been scoffed at, and he had been a benefactor of the 
people, while Ephraim had been their blood-sucking 
leech. 

At last, Gotzkowsky came to a firm determination 
that he would have revenge — yes, revenge on this un- 
grateful generation which had betrayed and forsaken 
him — revenge on the men who had shown themselves 
so small and pitiful. He wanted to remind those who 
were flourishing in pride and splendor, of their meanness 
and ingratitude. He would accuse no one, but his whole 
life was an indictment, not against individual men, but 
whole communities and cities, against the king himself. 
They had all been ungrateful toward him. They were 
all his debtors, and in presence of the whole world he 
would cast their ingratitude, their meanness, their mal- 
ice, and knavery in their face, and humble them by re- 
calling the past. He wrote for that purpose The His- 
tory of his Life, not in anger and scorn; he did not dip 
his pen in gall, he made no ill-natured reflections, no 
contemptuous remarks. He did nothing more than 
quietly and simply, clearly and truthfully, describe his 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

life and his deeds, and whenever it was necessary, con- 
firm his assertions by quotations from the official docu- 
ments relating thereto.* 

The very simplicity and truthfulness of this “ Bioa- 
raphy of a Patriotic Merchant ” procured for it an enor- 
mous success, and made the long-forgotten, much-calum- 
niated Gotzkowsky for a while the topic of eonversa- 
ion, not only in Berlin, but throughout all Germany 
Every one wanted to read the hook. All wished to have 
the malicious pleasure of seeing how much people of 
rank, communities, cities, and princes, were indebted to 
this man, and how pitilessly they had let him sink. 

The natural consequence was that the book, though 
written simply and with reserve, gave great offence. Gotz- 
kowsky had accused no one, but the facts accused. His 
present poverty and need condemned the proud, high- 
born people, and showed to the world their eold-hearted- 

* His biography begins in these words : “ I know that I «nhw 

benefit? «f man 7. beeause I did not use my fortune for my own 
benefit. They will say, ‘A man who pretends to know the world a 
merchant furthermore, whose principal merit is to make himself 
ch, and found a great house, gives so little heed to self-interest 
and entertains dreams of humanity and benevolence, hardly par- 
donable ,n a philosopher. Others, again, will deem my acts too 

fre con r ed a 1 . mpr0vldent - or vain > as happens, when such 

are considered from a point of view different from the actual one. 

But as long as I am convinced that I have acted as a true Chris- 
Oan and an honest patriot, I can despise all these criticisms. I 
ould not act otherwise, if I had my whole life to live over again. 
But I would be more prudent, as I am better acquainted with the 
character of those in whom I confided most. The peace of mind 
and cheerfulness which innocence and the consciousness of good 
deeds impart, are too perceptible to me, to allow me to hesitate for 

a moment between the demands of selfishness and those of hu- 
inanity. 


416 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


ness and miserable conduct. He had not exposed in- 
dividuals to the judgment of the world; no — his book 
accused the whole magistracy of Berlin of deeds of in- 
gratitude; and it even included the king, for whom he 
had bought a hundred thousand ducats’ worth of pic- 
tures, and who had only paid him hack a hundred and 
fifty thousand dollars. 

If his book had contained the smallest untruth, if 
there had been the least false statement in it, they would 
have stigmatized him as a calumniator and scandalizer 
of majesty. But Gotzkowsky had only told the truth. 
They could not, therefore, punish him as a false witness 
or slanderer. Consequently they had to content them- 
selves with suppressing “ The Life of a Patriotic Mer- 
chant.” 

The booksellers in Berlin were therefore ordered to 
give up all the copies, and even Gotzkowsky received 
an order to return those in his possession. He did so; 
he gave up the book to the authorities, who persecuted 
him because they had cause to blush before him; but his 
memory he could not surrender. His memory remained 
faithful to him, and was his support and consolation, 
whenever he felt ready to despair; this made him proud 
in his misfortune, and free in the bonds of poverty. And 
now they wese really poor; and penury, with all its hor- 
rors, its humiliations and sufferings, crept in upon them. 

Gotzkowsky’s book had awakened all those who en- 
vied and hated him, and they vowed his ruin. It showed 
how much the merchants of Berlin were indebted to him, 
and how little of this indebtedness they had cancelled. 
It was therefore an accusation against the wealthy mer- 
chants of Berlin, against which they could not defend 
themselves, but for which they could wreak revenge. 
Hot on him, for he had nothing they could take from 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


417 


him — no wealth, no name, no credit, and, in their mer- 
cantile eyes, no honor. But they revenged themselves 
on his family — on his son-in-law. The rich factory-lord, 
whose book-keeper Bertram had been, deprived him of 
his situation; and in consequence of a preconcerted ar- 
rangement, he could find no situation elsewhere. How 
could he now support his family? He was willing to 
work his fingers to the bone for his wife, for his father, 
for his child, who looked up so lovingly to him with its 
large, clear, innocent eyes, and dreamt not of the anxiety 
of its father, nor of the sighs which told of the anguish 
of its young mother. But nowhere could he procure 
employment — nowhere was there a situation for the son- 
in-law of Gotzkowsky, who had accused the merchants, 
the magistrates, yea, even the king! And now they were 
indeed poor, for they had no work; but, condemned to 
inactivity, to comfortless brooding, they shudderingly 
asked themselves what was to become of them — how this 
life of privation was to end. 

But while Bertram and Elise remained sad and dis- 
pirited, Gotzkowsky suddenly brightened up. For a 
long time he had walked up and down in silent thought. 
How, of a sudden, his countenance assumed the cheerful 
expression of former days, and energetic self-reliance 
was expressed in his features. Elise looked on with as- 
tonishment. He drew out from his chest the last re- 
mains of by-gone days, the silver oak-wreath set with 
diamonds, presented him by the town of Berlin, and the 
golden goblet given by the town of Leipsic. He looked 
at them for a long time attentively, and then went out, 
leaving Elise alone, to weep and pray to God to send 
them help, and to console Bertram when he came home 
from his fruitless search after a situation. 

It was some hours before Gotzkowsky returned, but 


418 


THE MERCHANT OP BERLIN. 


his countenance still retained its cheerfulness, and his 
features exhibited the energy and activity of past days. 
He stretched out his hands to both of his children, and 
drew them affectionately toward him and embraced 
them. “Are we then really poor, possessing one an- 
other? I say that we are still rich, for our hearts are 
yet warm, and our honor is not yet lost. But we have 
not yet learned to bear the indigence of our outer life. 
We have covered our poverty with the gloss of respecta- 
bility; we have been ashamed to appear in the streets 
in coarse clothes; we have not yet learned to distinguish 
the necessary from the superfluous; we have endeavored 
to be poor, and yet happy, in a city. That has been our 
mistake. The happiness of poverty does not reside with- 
in the cold walls of a town. It is not sown among the 
paving-stones of a street. It is only in Nature, who is 
rich enough to nourish and give to all those who trust- 
ingly cast themselves on her bosom — only in Nature, 
and the privacy of country life, that we can find rest 
and peace. Come, my children, let us leave this town; 
let us have the courage to become children of Nature 
and free citizens of poverty. Let us cast the show and 
glitter of a city life behind us, and wander forth, not 
over the sea nor into the desert, but to a cottage in a 
wood. I have stripped off the last vestige of the past, 
and the silver wreath and the golden goblet have been of 
some use, for they have furnished us the means ‘to found 
a new existence. Bertram, have you the courage to 
commence life anew and become a peasant? ” 

Bertram smiled. “ I have both the courage and the 
strength, for I am hearty and able to work.” 

“ And you, Elise, are you not too proud to bring up 
your child as a peasant? ” 

Elise kissed her child, and handed him to her father. 


THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 


419 


“ Let us bring him up to be a good and healthy man — a 
man like you and his father, and he will overcome the 
world and poverty, and be happy.” 

“ Oh! I well knew that I could count upon you; and 
now I know how we all can be helped. We are rich 
enough to buy, in some corner of the world, a little piece 
of land that we can cultivate, and on which we can build 
a cottage. The product of my valuables is sufficient for 
that purpose; and what we can realize from these articles 
of furniture will be sufficient to defray our travelling ex- 
penses. Get ready, then, children; to-morrow we leave for 
Silesia. In the mountains there we will look out some 
quiet, secluded valley, where the newly-made peasants 
can build them a cottage. There we will forget the past, 
and cast all its sufferings behind us; or if we do speak of 
them, it will be as of the tales of our childhood. Come, 
my children, let us return to Nature, God, and content- 
ment. Do you remember, Elise, how I once related to 
you that as a lad I once lay hungry and wretched on the 
high-road? The hand which was then stretched out to 
me did not proceed out of the cloud, but from heaven. 
It was not the consolation of an alms that it gave me, 
but the comforting assurance of love which raised me 
up and strengthened me, directing my looks to God, and 
teaching me to love Him in all His works. God dwells 
and speaks in Nature. Let us seek Him there, and serve 
Him in the sweat of our brow and in the coarse peasant’s 
frock. ........ 

And they went, and did as Gotzkowsky said. They 
moved to Silesia, and bought themselves there, among 
the mountains, a piece of land and a cottage, in which 
they led a quiet, retired, happy life. The world forgot 
them. Gotzkowsky’s name passed into oblivion. But 
history preserved it, and still holds him up as an ex- 




420 THE MERCHANT OF BERLIN. 

ample, not only of the most noble patriotism, bnt also 
of the ingratitude of men. His book, too, is left us, 
and bears witness for him. But as we read it, we be- 
come sad, and are ready to cry out, as he does, “ This is 
the world’s reward !” 


THE END. 












































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